


Stupid Bloody Potter

by ForeverAKlainer



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-11
Updated: 2014-04-13
Packaged: 2018-01-08 08:20:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 41,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1130405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForeverAKlainer/pseuds/ForeverAKlainer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Having been given a final chance to prove himself, Draco returned to Hogwarts to finish his schooling. With just two months until their final exams, he is determined to prove to the world that he didn’t deserve to go to Azkaban, that he is a redeemable human being. But somehow, Potter always ruins his well-thought-out plans.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Gryffindors

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, everyone! This short story is based on the prompt from dizpotter on tumblr: “Hogwarts 8th year Spin the Bottle/Strip Poker/Truth or Dare feat. Drarry.”
> 
> Warning: Contains swearing and m/m sex.
> 
> Any mistakes are mine and I apologise for them! I cannot lay claim to any part of the Harry Potter world, or any of the characters that reside within it.

 

Draco took a deep breath, trying to stifle his anger. 

 _Stupid bloody Gryffindors_ , he thought, turning the page of his _Advanced Potion-Making_ textbook. He had spent the past three hours studying for his N.E.W.T.S because, unlike the rest of his year, he actually wanted to pass.

It was just two months until their final exams, and after the disastrous reputation being on Voldemort’s side during the war had given him, he was determined to prove to the world that he didn’t deserve to go to Azkaban.

The months following the war had been difficult for the Malfoy family. Lucius had been unceremoniously shoved in a cell in Azkaban, along with every other known Death Eater that hadn’t fled the country quickly enough. Those that had fled were hunted viciously, until all but a few were locked up. Each was, of course, given what was considered to be a fair trial in front of the Wizengamot, but little could be said to clear their names. Many tried to claim, like in the first battle, that they were _imperiused_ , but under the strict conduct of the Ministry under Kingsley Shacklebolt, that excuse rarely held up. 

After all he had done, Draco was incredibly lucky to have been allowed to finish his schooling. The main reason he had been given a chance was, surprisingly, due to his arch-nemesis, Harry Potter. Potter had, much to Draco’s immense annoyance, been the one person to step up and defend his honour, mentioning in detail their run-in at Malfoy Manor when Draco hadn’t admitted to recognising him.

In all honesty, Draco couldn’t remember why exactly he _hadn’t_ ratted out Potter. After his trial, he had spent many hours with that one moment playing on repeat in his head and had eventually decided that it was just fear, and it was much easier to move on after that.

His eighth year at Hogwarts had so far been, for lack of a better word, interesting. The younger students were completely terrified of him, and as a result never came within fifty feet of him if they could help it. Most of the older ones left him alone, as well, especially those in Slytherin house.  Each and every one of them was already considered to be evil simply for being in Slytherin, and associating with Draco would be bound to make their reputation even worse. As a result, all of the friends he had had during his first six years of schooling had completely abandoned him.

Pansy Parkinson, his girlfriend of several years, had not spoken a word to him all year, seeming to prefer to spend her time with less guilty parties such as Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott. It had been difficult to adjust to, at first. Somewhere in the back of his mind he had hoped that this year would be a happy one, to erase all of the other horrific years. Seeing Pansy pretend he didn’t exist that first day had made him realise that his hopes were for nought.  

The Gryffindors had, predictably, spent their time in Draco’s presence sneering in his direction and making cruel jokes. Once, a group of cocky sixth-years were as brazen to ask to see his Dark Mark, before scoffing and strutting away. Hatred from the Gryffindors had not really been a surprise, but it had been a great deal more difficult to deal with without the support of his old friends. Draco no longer had the confidence or the pride to follow their vicious remarks with a witty comeback.

The year was, thank Merlin, almost over and Draco had learnt to accept, and even appreciate, the seclusion being ignored gave him. While he would admit he was quite lonely, he had had a great deal of time to study for his exams without all of the distractions.

It seemed that tonight, however, it would be impossible to get any work done, as the Gryffindors had started an impromptu party in the Eighth Year Common Room. 

A few minutes prior, Seamus Finnigan had stormed into the Common Room, shouting, “I got Firewhiskey, ev’ryone!” That had been followed by a loud applause from almost everyone in the room, save for Granger, who had merely scoffed and resignedly closed her textbook, seeming to accept that she wouldn’t be getting any more studying done tonight. Glasses had immediately been passed around and filled with the potent liquid, most of which had been sculled within seconds.

The group was now seated in a circle on the carpet, getting ready to play some sort of game. Ron Weasley and Dean Thomas were chanting obnoxiously, obviously eager for the game to start. 

Draco closed his Potions textbook with a loud sigh, thinking it might be good for him to get an early night, anyway. He began packing his things and placing them neatly into his bag, before standing and walking towards his room.

“Oi, Malfoy-" 

Stopping abruptly, Draco turned to the sound of the voice. There Potter stood, merely feet away, with a half-full glass of Firewhiskey and a dopey grin on his face.

“Aren’t you gonna play?” Potter yelled, much louder than was really necessary. All heads in the room turned to see Draco stumbling on a reply, trying to think of an excuse as quickly as possible. It didn’t help that he hadn’t been directly spoken to outside of class for several weeks; it felt like he had forgotten how to speak.

“I- Err-“

With a drunken-sounding chuckle, Potter grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the other eighth years, pushing him unceremoniously onto the floor in-between Pansy (who was quite obviously avoiding looking him in the eye) and Anthony Goldstein. 

Before he knew what was happening, his bag had been shoved under a table somewhere, he had been handed an over-flowing glass of alcohol, and the game had begun.

Two minutes into the game, Draco was completely and utterly confused. Thomas had placed an empty bottle in the middle of the circle and preceded to spin it around, everyone chanting as it spun. When it finally stopped, some let out a surprised gasp and, much to Draco’s astonishment, Thomas and Finnigan began to snog quite passionately right in front of him.

Unable to make sense of what was happening, Draco took a healthy gulp of Firewhiskey, thinking maybe you needed to be half-pissed to understand the game. His throat burned as he swallowed, instantly feeling light-headed. Having temporarily distracted himself from the game, Draco looked back up to see Padma Patil heavily making out with an eager-looking Michael Corner.

“What in the name of Merlin is this game?” Draco said without thinking, turning to Goldstein.

If Goldstein was surprised to hear Draco talk, he didn’t show it, answering casually, “Spin-the-bottle. It’s a Muggle game. One person spins the bottle, and they have to snog whoever it points to.”

Nodding, Draco turned back to the circle, watching with rapt attention as Theodore Nott spun the bottle. Pansy looked disappointed as it just passed her, landing on Blaise Zabini. Blaise merely smirked, not looking phased in the slightest as he leaned over and stuck his tongue right down Nott’s throat. 

As more and more pairs began to kiss upon the spinning of the bottle, Draco couldn’t tear his eyes away. So far, Draco had witnessed short make-out sessions between Granger and the Weasel, Terry Boot and Susan Bones and Parvati Patil and Pansy. Maybe it was because this game was so new to him, or maybe it was because he was nearing his fourth glass in less than fifteen minutes, but Draco felt as if he had never been so entertained in all of his life.

Draco took another swig of his drink as Potter grasped the bottle and spun it with what seemed to be all the force he could muster. _Show off_ , Draco thought as the bottle seemed to spin endlessly, before coming to a stop, pointing right at Draco.

_Wait, what? Pointing right at me? Does that mean that Potter’s going to…_

Potter turned to face him, a feral smile gracing his face as he crawled slowly forward, looking like a jungle cat eyeing its prey. Draco felt as if his heart was about to beat out of his chest, watching Potter coming towards him with wide eyes and his mind whirling.

_Potter’s going to fucking kiss me. Oh Merlin what am I-_

And then all of a sudden, Potters lips were touching his own, and any thoughts Draco had been having came to an abrupt halt. Unable to stop himself from whimpering quietly, Draco joined in to the kiss, opening his mouth and allowing Potter’s tongue to tangle with his. Electric sparks seemed to travel from their connected mouths to every pore in his body. He felt alive, his heart beating wildly and sporadically, his head spinning from the sensation.

In the back of his mind, he vaguely registered someone wolf-whistling, but he happily ignored it, reaching his hand up to clutch his fingers into Potter’s unruly hair.

And as quickly as it had come, Potter’s mouth disappeared. When Draco dazedly opened his eyes, Potter was sitting back on his side of the circle, a proud grin gracing his features.

Shaking his head, Draco dragged himself back into line with the circle, trying to clear his mind. But all he could think of was the feel of Potter’s lips, the taste of his tongue. If he concentrated, he could taste treacle tart from that night’s dinner, and he certainly had not eaten any. As he crossed his legs, he realised he was half hard in his slacks, and pulled his shirt down to hide himself.

The game moved on as Draco’s thoughts replayed that kiss over and over, feeling every sensation as if he had never stopped kissing Potter. 

_I just kissed Potter. Fucking hell I just kissed Harry fucking Potter._

Draco’s head was reeling.

_But I’m not a ponce. I shouldn’t have enjoyed kissing him, Harry fucking Potter or not. I don’t like blokes. Do I?_

Dimly he registered that the bottle had landed pointing towards him, and he rid his thoughts of Potter, turning to kiss an embarrassed Pansy.

Pansy had never been the best kisser. Draco already knew that from their previous rendez-vous, so he wasn’t the least surprised when he felt barely any sensation upon kissing her, other than a slightly unpleasant taste in his mouth. When it was over, he refilled his glass and sculled the entire thing in one gulp, relishing in the burn.

By now he had lost count of how many glasses he had drunk, and his vision was really beginning to swim. He wasn’t sure whether everyone was rocking back and forth, or if that was him, but either way he was finding it extremely entertaining. Laughing merrily to himself, he stood up, announcing to the room that the music needed to be louder.

Draco stumbled as he found the radio, turning the volume knob as far as it would go. This seemed to distract the others, who all appeared to forget about the game completely and jumped up. Within seconds everyone was dancing, some grinding on the person nearest them and others swirling freely to the beat of the music. Draco himself was swaying his hips from side to side as he gradually made his way through another glass of Firewhiskey, watching people dance. The Weasel was grinding quite disgustingly up on Granger, who didn’t seem to mind. Pansy had her lips locked onto Theo’s as they rocked to the music. Draco was astonished to see a very pissed Finnigan pull Thomas down the hall in the direction of their dormitories. One person was strangely missing from the dancers, however, Draco noticed as he surveyed the faces of those in the room. 

 _Where have you gotten off to, Potter?_ Draco thought to himself, before bursting into a fit of laughter. “Gotten- gotten off,” he barked, seeming to find the utmost hilarity in his own little innuendo.

Out of the blue he felt warm hands grasping his hips from behind, pulling him into a dark corner in the back of the Common Room. Not knowing who had grabbed him, but not really caring, Draco ground his hips backward in time to the music, his heart jumping when he felt the unmistakeable shape of male anatomy pressing against his behind. With a start, he turned to find none other than Potter, his hands now cupping his arse, looking at him with glazed eyes.

“Potter,” Draco exclaimed as he pulled away abruptly, shaking his head when he immediately felt light-headed.

Harry’s only reply was to whisper, “Malfoy,” before grabbing him by the waist and pulling him close again. Their lips touched for the second time that night, and any protests Draco may have had disappeared. 

They kissed with reckless abandon, Draco pushing Potter up against the wall with brute force, shuddering as he felt their clothed hard-ons come into contact. 

Potter pulled away to gasp for air, muttering, “I like the way you move your hips, Malfoy.” 

Draco shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts before stepping back, sneering. “What- what are you, Potter, a ponce?” 

Potter just sneered right back, looking Draco right in the eye. “You seemed pretty into it too, from what I could tell,” he said, gesturing with a grin towards Draco’s obviously bulging crutch.

All Draco could do was stutter, dumbfounded as he was pulled back into another blazing kiss that held more force than any of the others. In the back of his mind, he knew he should try and resist, but he couldn’t focus on anything other than the feeling of Potter’s body pressed against his. 

When Potter moved his mouth down to Draco’s neck, he couldn’t stop himself from moaning loudly, forgetting about the others in the room, dancing just around the corner. 

He felt Potter chuckle against his neck, before he was assaulted with a sucking sensation, just above his collarbone. Draco whimpered, pressing his hips somehow closer to Potter’s, wanting to feel more.

Blindly, he clutched his fingers at Potter’s shirt, trying to undo the buttons as quickly as he could. When he finally undid the last button, he roughly pulled the shirt off Potter’s shoulders, dropping it without a thought onto the floor.

Even in the dim lighting, he could see every ridge of Potter’s toned chest, and he salivated at the sight. _Apparently all those hours of Quidditch training have been good to you_ , Draco thought as he ran his hands over Potter’s chest. 

Potter abruptly pulled Draco’s shirt over his head, attaching his lips to the right nipple and sucking with abandon. It took everything Draco had not to collapse at the sensation, feeling Potter run his fingers over his thin frame. 

“You’re not so bad yourself, Malfoy,” 

Confused, Draco tried to retrace his thoughts. “Oh s-shit, did I say that out loud?”

Potter only chortled, trailing his hands down to Draco’s hips and skilfully flicking the button to his pants undone. 

Draco lurched as Potter thrust a hand down his pants, immediately closing over his cock and giving a hard tug. The only response Draco could give was to cry loudly, pushing his hips forward into Potter’s hand, practically begging him for more. 

Shocks of pleasure ran through his body with every stroke of his cock, and Draco felt as if he was going to die from the array of sensations Potter’s hand was causing.

“Merlin, P-potter, fuck me,” he yelled when Potter gave a particularly strong pull. He was immediately pushed so that his back was against the wall, Potter letting his pants fall so that they pooled around his feet. 

“Do you know how this works, Malfoy?” Potter said, his voice raspy. 

It took all of Draco’s willpower to force himself to nod, shaking with anticipation as Potter pulled out his wand and muttered a quick spell. Seconds later he felt wet, cold fingers pressing against the crest of his hole, making him shiver.

And then a single finger pressed harder, pushing so slowly inside of him. It was uncomfortable, but with the aching need to be touched so prominent, it barely registered. Spreading his legs wider, he let himself sink onto Potter’s index finger, until it could no longer go any further. Potter eased the finger back out again, before thrusting it in quickly, making Draco cry out.

“Fuck, Potter, more,” he whimpered, so driven by arousal that he started to fuck himself on Potter’s finger.

When another finger was inserted, the burn became more prominent, Potter scissoring the fingers inside of him. Draco moaned wildly, needing to feel more. Before he knew it, a third finger was entering him, and this time he relished in the burn that came from being stretched. Somehow it was causing him a great deal of pleasure, causing shivers to travel down his spine. 

“I’m going to fuck you now, Malfoy,” Potter gasped, slipping out his fingers and whispering another lubrication charm.

Draco felt Potter’s cock touch lightly at his hole, and he had to stop himself from coming then and there. Potter watched Draco as he began to shudder in anticipation, running his fingers lightly over Draco’s cock, taking great pleasure in the noises Draco was making. 

“Merlin, Potter, get the fuck on with, will you?” Draco whined as he pushed himself slightly onto Potter’s cock. Draco gasped as Potter thrust into him all at once, filling him completely. They both took deep breaths, trying to slow their heart rates. Potter looked Draco right in the eye as he slipped almost all the way out of him, before thrusting roughly once again.

Potter began to thrust in and out at a regular pace, driving Draco up the wall each time he filled him. “You are so,” Potter breathed out as he entered Draco again, “fucking hot, Malfoy,” 

Draco could only groan as Potter grabbed the back of his thighs and guided them so that his legs were locked around his waist. This time when Potter thrust, he hit something deep inside of Draco that made him cry out, seeing stars.

“Fuck, Potter. Fuck me harder,” Draco yelled, wrapping his hands around Potter’s neck and pulling him closer for a searing kiss. Their tongues melded together messily, Draco’s dripping cock trapped between his and Potter’s hard chests. It felt as if they were touching from head to toe, as close as two humans could possibly be, but it wasn’t close enough. He wanted Potter everywhere, so close that they melded into one.

With every thrust, Potter’s cock filled him completely, hitting that sweet spot inside of him.

When Potter wrapped a slick hand around his cock, Draco knew he wouldn’t last much longer. There were too many sensations; he had never experienced such pleasure in all of his life.

“I-I’m close, Draco,” Potter groaned out as his thrusts steadily gained speed, stroking his cock in time as he did so. Their bodies rubbed feverishly against each other, sweat-slicked skin gliding easily together.

With one last thrust, Potter gasped, “Draco, come for me,” and Draco felt spasms attacking every part of his body.

His arse clenched tightly as he came, moaning Potter’s name with all of the strength he had left. Potter soon followed, and Draco could feel come filling his hole. Ecstasy surrounded them, and in that moment nothing existed except Draco and Potter.

After a few minutes, Draco let his legs fall to the ground, unable to hold himself up any longer. He groaned as he felt Potter’s cock slip out of him, sticky come dripping down his crack and making him shiver.

The pair stared at each other, still pinned quite close, as they tried to slow their laboured breathing. Potter smiled greedily as his eyes roamed over Draco’s sated form, seeming to appreciate the view.

Completely aware of being leered at, Draco began to feel extremely self-conscious, removing his hands from Potter’s hair to cover himself. He was suddenly aware of how vulnerable he was in that position, and pushed Potter away roughly to lift his pants back up. As quickly as he could, he picked his shirt off the ground and put it over his head, his heart racing and mind whirring.

 _What the fuck did you just_ do _?_ he thought to himself, completely lost and terrified. _You just got fucked quite remarkably in the arse by none other than Harry Potter_ , his mind supplied for him.

“Shut up!” he yelled to himself, trying to control the shaking that was now overcoming his body.

Draco looked up to see Potter gaping at him, seemingly quite shocked at Draco’s reaction.

“Ma-“ Potter started, reaching out to grab his wrist.

“Fuck off, Potter,” Draco said as he stepped away, glaring at the still naked man in front of him.

“Malfoy, can’t we please talk-“ 

“I said, fuck off, Potter! I’m not a fucking ponce!” Draco stormed off as quickly as he could, rounding the corner to the dormitories and slamming his door. His heart felt as if it was about to beat out of his chest. 

_What have you done?_


	2. Firewhiskey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again, guys! I’m back, less than a week later!
> 
> Thank you so much to those who gave me a kudos and bookmarked! Every notification I get about this story makes me so happy.
> 
> There are no real warnings for this chapter, except for maybe a little naughty language.

It was close to four in the morning, and Draco was about ready to begin bashing his head against the wall. He had been staring at his ceiling for over two hours, trying to will his body to sleep. He could barely keep his eyes open, but every time they closed his mind was attacked by thoughts, _memories_ , of Potter against him. The fact that his body still ached from exertion, not to mention a certain _unmentionable area_ being incredibly sore, did not help him to rid his thoughts of Potter.

 

Every time he pictured Potter in his mind’s eye, he was overcome by a wild array of emotions. Confusion was one of the most prominent. He wasn’t sure which part bothered him the most: the public part, the male part or the _Potter_ part.

 

Draco had told himself several times that he had drunk a lot of alcohol in a short space of time. _I was just drunk, and Potter jumped me. I’m a male teenager, of course I reacted the way I did. Who in their right mind could resist a hand job like that?_ He, of course, wouldn’t let himself consider the ramifications of the part where things had progressed far further than a simple hand job. 

 

After several more minutes of tossing and turning, Draco finally began to drift off. His last thought before sleep took him was, _stupid bloody Firewhiskey_.

 

 

 

Draco slowly made his way down the corridor leading to the Common Room, trying to will himself awake. Why the Eighth Years had decided to throw a party on a Wednesday night completely eluded him; he had no idea how he was meant to stop himself from falling asleep at his desk. It was six thirty in the morning, and so far Draco had already tried having a cold shower, slapping himself in the face and a Pepper-up Potion to try and wake himself up. Nothing, unfortunately, had helped. It was times like these when he really appreciated the lack of friends. He wasn’t in the right frame of mind to hold a conversation with anyone, so it was quite convenient that no one would want to speak to him.

 

When he stepped into the Common Room, everyone in the room went silent, watching him as he embarrassedly looked around the room for his bag. He was sure someone had thrown it somewhere when he had been dragged into that blasted bottle game, but it was no where to be found. Getting frustrated very quickly, Draco felt as if any energy he had was being drained from his body in this quest for his bag. 

 

In addition to the frustration of losing his bag, he was beginning to feel quite self-conscious at being watched so closely by the others in the room. This late in the year, most of the Hogwarts student body had stopped staring and had merely taken to ignoring him. It felt as if he had been taken back in time to the beginning of the year; it wasn’t a nice feeling.

 

 _Why on Earth are they watching me?_ He thought, tracing back the events of this morning and after that gave him nothing, the night before.

 

A picture of naked, smirking Potter flashed through his mind,  startling him so greatly that he nearly tripped on his own feet. _Oh Merlin,_ Draco groaned internally, _They heard us. Of course they heard us. I practically screamed Potter’s name as I came._ His heart was beginning to race as he looked around the room at the staring faces. He ducked his head, feeling as though his cheeks were on fire. _They’re all going to think I’m a blasted ponce._ Draco had the sudden urge to yell, ‘I don’t like men!’ to the room, but stopped himself, not wanting to make an even bigger fool out of himself than he already had. He was beginning to feel very sick to his stomach, terrified about the reaction he would receive from the rest of the Hogwarts’ student body. His reputation was already bad enough; the last thing he needed was for the world to think he was… _in love_ with _Potter_ or something as equally ridiculous. Knowing the sort of rubbish _The Prophet_ usually published, they would probably make up some story about him using Potter to take down the Wizarding World. 

 

What had previously been fear in his stomach was slowly turning into a hot, bubbling anger. Afraid of what he might say if he stayed in the Common Room, Draco stormed out as quickly as he could in his still tired state. As he stepped over the threshold of the Common Room’s exit, he was immediately pulled by collar of his robes to the right and shoved roughly against the wall. The feeling sent an onslaught of highly inappropriate images straight to his cock, and he fought to keep an erection from appearing.

 

When he finally registered that it was Potter who was - once again - holding him against the wall with a proud smirk on his face, it did not help his semi-aroused state. Feeling anger building in his stomach, Draco shoved him off roughly.

 

“I thought I told you to fuck off, Potter!” Draco growled out, trying to get away from Potter as quickly as possible. Of course, Potter was quicker. Still feeling half asleep, despite the anger coursing through his veins, Draco didn’t even notice that Potter had moved to follow him until he was completely blocking the entrance to the staircase. His green eyes glinted as the smirk grow to a full blown smile, all of his teeth showing. The sight of it made Draco sick to the stomach.

 

“Was that _before_ or _after_ you screamed my name, Malfoy?”

 

Draco was so surprised by Potter’s lack of subtlety that he seemed to choke on his own tongue, and couldn’t stop himself from having a - very embarrassing - coughing fit. Without hesitation, Potter began smacking him on the back as Draco struggled to gain control over his exhausted body. Every part of him ached.

 

Potter wrapped his hands around Draco’s shoulders in an apparent bid to help him stay upright. Still attempting to breathe, Draco’s heart sped up at the feel of Potter’s warm hands.

 

Panicking, Draco struggled out of Potter’s grasp, trying to yell in between fits of coughing. “F-“ cough, “Fuck o-“ cough, “off, Potter! I don’t need your-“ cough, “fucking help!”

 

Still looking as cocky as ever, Potter stepped back, seeming to take amusement in Draco’s continuing coughing fit. Tapping his foot quite obnoxiously, Potter crossed his arms across his chest, a cheeky grin gracing his features.

 

Eventually, cheeks impossibly red for the second time that morning and his stomach aching painfully, Draco was able to finally gain control of his body. Looking up to see Potter smirking only made his anger grow impossibly hotter.

 

Taking a deep breath, trying to clear his head, Draco gave Potter one last glare before stalking away.

 

“Wait, Malfoy!” he heard Potter yell from behind him. Draco turned around to face him without thinking, immediately feeling irritated with himself for being distracted so easily. “Don’t you want your bag?” It was only then that Draco noticed Potter had been carrying his bag on his back that whole time.

 

Not wanting to give Potter the satisfaction, Draco merely tried to hide his surprise, shrugging his shoulders and walking away with as confident strides as he could muster. It had been a long time since he had had to pretend to be confident, like he was better than everyone around him. When he was younger, before the Second War, it had been so easy, like second nature. Now, however, it took almost every ounce of his concentration.

 

In his rush to get away from Potter as confidently as possible, he did not notice Potter’s arrogant smile faltering and falling away, only to be replaced by a pitifully sad expression.

 

 

 

As soon as Draco entered the Great Hall, his heart stopped, feeling dread seep up his spine. Almost every student in the hall turned to watch him walk, the sound of his shoes taping on the floor echoing throughout the eerily silent room. This time, it didn’t take him long to connect the dots. After his little run in with Potter, he had completely forgotten that within hours - or even minutes - the entire school would know about him and Potter’s… activities. He tried not to look terrified, projecting the same air of confidence he had faked with Potter, but it became harder and harder with every step he took. Every staring face was like a jab to his stomach.

 

Sitting down at the far end of the Slytherin table, as far away from other students as possible, Draco struggled to ignore the still-staring faces around him. The Hogwarts rumour mill travelled fast, but he had no idea it would travel this fast. It was incredibly difficult for Draco to try and maintain his pride as he ate his breakfast. He felt as though he was under a magnifying glass, each and every one of his pores on display for the world to see.

 

Being watched so carefully made every move he make of the utmost importance. One wrong move, and he would be an even bigger laughing stock than he already was. He decided the best way to avoid even more embarrassment was to eat everything as slowly as was humanly possible. The biggest problem with this precaution was that breakfast seemed to drag on forever. Luckily, after ten minutes or so the hype of his entrance started to die down, and he was able to return his eating speed back to normal.

 

After that it didn’t take long for him to finish, and he hurried out of the Great Hall as quickly as possible without tripping over his own feet. Only when he stepped into Ancient Runes (to which everyone in the class resumed their awful staring) did he realise that he didn’t have his bag. He sat down at the desk, letting his head fall into his hands. _Dammit Potter for being such a bloody cocky arse. He knew I would be too proud to ask him for my bag back, and that I’d end up book-less. Why does he always have to ruin everything?_

 

During Draco’s little internal rant, he didn’t notice that Professor Babbling had already begun the lesson. Trying to look like he was listening, Draco stared at the professor, watching her wrinkled hands as they gestured with enthusiasm. Why anyone could be so interested in Runes, he wasn’t sure, but Babbling spoke as if they were her one true love. In fact, after having hardly any sleep and the horrific morning he had had so far, it was tiring him just to listen to her. Sighing, Draco took a quick glance around the classroom to see whether any present would be willing to lend him at least parchment and a quill. The only person he thought would be kind enough was Anthony Goldstein. They _had_ sat next to each other in the bottle game circle, and he hadn’t put up a fuss. The next few minutes were spent trying to think of a way to get Goldstein’s attention. 

 

Looking back to the front of the room, Draco saw Granger’s hand raise. Babbling stopped mid-sentence, giving Granger a puzzled look.

 

“Yes, Granger?” she said, her voice still quite strong despite her obviously old age.

 

Granger smiled at the Professor as if she thought they were old friends. “I don’t mean to be a bother, but I was wondering if I could please switch seats.”

 

The professor merely nodded, obviously angry that Granger had interrupted her lecture for such mundane a reason. Seeing her discomfort, Granger got out of her seat as subtly as possible, and began walking towards the back of the classroom. Curious, the entire class watched her walk, wondering why she had chosen to switch seats. No one was as astonished as Draco, however, when Granger stopped next to his desk, sat down next to him and gave him a small smile.

 

More than a little astonished but trying not to show it, Draco turned back to the front of the class again. _I bet this has something to do with Potter,_ he thought, beginning to feel quite uneasy. _If the whole school knows what we did, then of course Granger would know. That cocky bastard probably boasted about it to her!_

 

Granger cleared her throat, and Draco whipped his head to face her, willing away the redness in his cheeks. “I noticed you didn’t have your utensils, so I thought you’d like to share,” she said, sending him another smile. Too shocked to reply, Draco only stared at Granger as she passed him some parchment, a quill and ink before seeming to return full focus to the lesson.

 

Half an hour into their lesson, Babbling had finally stopped well, babbling and had allowed the students a little extra time to revise for their N.E.W.T.’s. Granger turned to him purposefully, quite obviously trying not to look nervous. Her eyes darted to the Professor, who was reading a book at her desk, not paying the slightest attention to the class. “I just want you to know that these rumours… Well, they’re awfully crude, aren’t they? The nerve they had to spread such a thing around the school! But I feel like this is my fault, to be quite honest. So I just wanted you to know that I… apologise. For believing their daft excuses and letting them in.” Feeling more confused with every word she said, Draco struggled to keep up with her rapid-fire words. _What’s her fault? I definitely wouldn’t say having sex with Potter is her fault. Far from that, in fact. It was that damn Firewhiskey. And who is she talking about, ‘letting them in’?_

 

Draco tried to focus on Granger once again; she was still speaking, but it seemed the direction of the conversation had changed. “And of course,” she said, looking at him with a great deal of pity that made Draco squirm, “Everyone always thinks about how difficult the Battle was for those that fought with Harry, but they never really consider how someone like you was affected. I’m ashamed to admit that I was in that category as well. Most people still see you as guilty, just another one Voldemort’s disciples. I’m not asinine to believe that, especially not now that I’ve opened my eyes. It must be really hard for you, being here when you know almost every person here believes you to be evil.”

 

Having actually understood what Granger was talking about by that point, Draco was utterly stunned. The only reply he was able to offer was a shaky nod. The look of pity on her face only grew, and it angered Draco. He didn’t want people to pity him; he knew he had done bad things, and he would rather spend his whole life trying to rebuild his reputation than have people suddenly look at him like a victim.

 

Anger rising in his stomach, Draco no longer felt too nervous to speak. “I don’t want your pity, Granger. I chose my side, and now I’m paying the price.” With that, Draco merely glared and looked down at his empty parchment, wishing he had at least started revising so he would know where he was up to. Instead, he simply started to write the first thing that came to mind, with a purposeful and confident look on his face.

 

From the corner of his eye, Draco could see Granger looking more than a little offended, but rather than retaliating like Draco expected, she merely took in a deep breath and turned to continue working.

 

The lesson went buy agonisingly slowly after that. Draco didn’t know where to look. He only really had two choices: look ahead, or look at his parchment. There were only ten or so students in this class, so the former would draw attention to him, which is something he definitely didn’t need. He had already been staring at his mostly-empty parchment for at least thirty minutes. Each minute had felt like ten, and it was becoming almost impossible to distract himself. As much as he wished to stop thinking about the rumours that Granger had confirmed were circulating about him, he couldn’t. And every time he thought about the rumours, he remembered that they weren’t _just_ rumours. They were actual facts. Because those things _had_ happened. Draco Malfoy had let himself be fucked against a wall, and had screamed Potter’s name as he had come. Firewhiskey or not, he was never going to forgive himself, and he had the sickening feeling that neither would the Wizarding World.

 

Looking back to his parchment, Draco tried to thinking about the task at hand: Ancient Runes. _Or something like that_ , he thought, sighing. All that was written on the parchment was a badly-drawn dragon (Draco would be the first to admit that he wasn’t much of an artist) and the words, “The Ancient Romans destroyed themselves by shagging Harry bloody Potter.”

 

Draco scoffed as he read through what he had written, immediately spelling it away with a flick of his wand. Luckily, he was spared from further boredom by the bell signalling it was time for second period. _Oh Merlin,_ second _period? That was the longest bloody period of my entire life._

 

Without thinking, Draco began gathering his things, and was about to place them into his bag when he remembered that they _weren’t_ his things, and Potter was still in possession of his bag. Groaning quietly, he turned to Granger and arrogantly handed her the equipment, without even a thank you. _I’ve never said thank you to her before, and I’m not going to start today,_ he thought as he pushed in his chair and stalked out of the classroom without a backwards glance.

 

It was only when he arrived at his Potions classroom that Draco realised he wouldn’t be getting away from Granger any time soon. Much to his discomfort, they shared all but one of their classes. When he realised that he would need to borrow her equipment again, his annoyance was only heightened. Of course, he could ask another person in their class, but even though most of the 8th Years did Potions, he doubted any of them would be willing to lend him anything.

 

Resigning himself to further humiliation, Draco prepared himself to ask Granger to user her equipment again. He was surprised (for what must have been the thousandth time already that day) when Granger once again sat down next to him, passing him parchment and a quill without so much as a hello. Draco just looked at her with a blank expression, as if to ask why she was helping him, especially after he had been rude to her.

 

“Harry told me your bag was stolen. How are you supposed to get any work done without writing utensils?” Granger had a strange look on her face as she said that, like the thought of not getting any work done was of the upmost absurdity.

 

The rest of the day passed in a similar manner. Granger would sit next to him, letting him borrow her things, and they would practically ignore each other’s presence for the entire time. After their little argument in Ancient Runes, Granger seemed to think starting an actual conversation with him wouldn’t turn out well. 

 

Lunch was uneventful, occurring in a similar fashion to breakfast. The staring continued, but at least they were being a bit more subtle about it. The one strange thing that occurred, however, were the groups of girls that would giggle when he walked past them. Sure, laughing he understood, ridiculing he understood. But giggling? Surely they would be more disgusted than _excited_ by the thought of him and Potter together. He brushed it off, however, excusing it as another strange attribute to the female species. He had never understood them, and didn’t think he ever would.

 

By the time dinner time rolled around, Draco was completely exhausted. After only having two hours sleep and dealing with all of the staring and giggling (Draco still did not understand that phenomenon in the slightest), he was about ready to sleep for a week. He felt incredibly unproductive, having not done a scrap of classwork all day, nor any homework or revision after classes had ended, but sitting in front of the fire, he could barely keep his eyes open. Deciding he’d rather catch up on his sleep than head to dinner, Draco stood up slowly and made his way down the corridor leading to their dormitories. When he reached his door, however, he was surprised to see a note stuck to it.

 

Curious, Draco pulled the note from the door, trying to decipher the words with his sleep-addled brain.

 

_Malfoy,_

_A little birdy told me that you’ve got a bigger wand than your pocket implies._

_If you ever want to roll around in the sheets, I’m willing._

_Love Big Puppies_

 

_P.S. I’m quite partial to a tattooed man._

 

More than a little astonished, Draco had to stop himself his eyes from bulging out of their sockets. When the note decided to set itself on fire right in the palm of his hand, Draco jumped about a foot. _You’d think I’d be used to this sort of thing after eighteen years_ , he thought, sighing and casting a quick _scourgify_ to remove the ash that had previously been the mysterious note. 

 

_Who in the name of Merlin’s Pants is Big Puppies? And why does she seem to think she knows I have a large wand?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked this chapter! Any guesses as to who 'Big Puppies' is? ;) As always, if you review I will love you forever :3
> 
> Next chapter will hopefully be up within a week!


	3. Women

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m back, everyone! I would like to say thank you, thank you, thank you for all of the follows, favourites and reviews. They make me so immensely happy, and not to mention encourage me to get new chapters out as quickly as possible ;)  
> This chapter is almost double the length of the two previous ones! Whooh! There are no real warnings for this one, either :)  
> diddleymaz: I am currently working on new chapters as we speak, but I can only write so quickly. Between working full time and night-time activities, it is hard to writing time in. I am, however, fully committed to this story and will post chapters as quickly as I can.
> 
> SmakLia: Hmm… I’m Australian so maybe it’s weird slang that no one else has heard of… But yes, Big Puppies is a single person… Puppies are a metaphor for a certain piece of female anatomy ;)
> 
> I cannot lay claim to any part of the Harry Potter world, or any of the characters that reside within it. I can, however, shamefully claim any mistakes I have made and apologise profusely for them!

Having had another horrifically restless night, Draco woke up on Friday morning once again unfathomably exhausted. It almost felt as if it were simply a repeat of the previous day, save for the fact that certain _parts_ of his body were no longer aching quite so horrendously. Despite the reminder of why he was sore _there_ in the first place, Draco had been able to put Potter completely and irrevocably out of his mind, and he had given himself a personal rule that he was not to think about the man. In fact, he had decided that Potter was worth so little of his attention that he might as well not exist at all.

Draco had spent several hours the previous night analysing the note he had been given. It had not been, in truth, very difficult to decipher but the entire note continued to puzzle him. Unable to sleep, and trying not to feel guilty for leaving his textbooks closed so close to his final exams, he had written an abundance of analytical notes on the parchment. After delving into it as far as he could possibly delve (it wasn’t exactly a verbose note, after all), he was able to make a few deductions.

1\. Someone had obviously seen his _bits_ and had told their friends that he was… well-endowed.

2\. This person was more than willing to jump into bed with him.

3\. They did not seem to mind that he had been permanently marked by Voldemort.

When he woke up that morning, he joyfully discovered that Blaise and Theo had already departed. Picking up the parchment, he checked over the deductions he had made several times, before being able to confirm to himself that, despite being irrevocably while writing them, they were, without a shadow of a doubt, correct.

After that, he was able to deduce one other, very important, factor: the person to have seen his bits could not be anyone other than Potter. Before Potter, he had not slept with anyone since his Sixth Year, and it seemed unlikely to Draco that Pansy or one of the younger Slytherin women he had slept with would all of a sudden decide to come out and announce to their friends that he has a large wand. _And anyway_ , Draco thought, _who says my wand is any larger than anyone else’s? Potter’s, for instance, felt quite a bit larger than mi-_ Draco stopped himself, realising he had broken the biggest rule he had set for himself: do not think about Harry bloody Potter. _And definitely do not think about the size of his cock!_

Feeling increasingly terrified by the turn in his thoughts, Draco thought back to the note he had received. Potter had obviously told one of his female friends about their exploits and she had, for some strange reason, had been interested. The more he thought about his theory, the more certain he felt that he was correct in his inferences.

The only thing left to do was figure out _which_ of Potter’s friends had written him the note. After he decided that, well, he did not know what he would do. _I will worry about that later_ , he thought with an exasperated sigh.

One person he could most certainly rule out was Granger. Not only did she completely despise him (he _had_ been awful to her in the past) but she was currently dating Weasley, and after the disgusting grinding he had seen from them during the Dreaded Spinning Bottle Party, they seemed to be going quite strong. Above both of those reasons, however, was also the fact that Draco could not see Granger being so crude. 

A large problem was the fact that, other than Granger, Draco did not know who Potter’s other female friends could be. The obvious assumption would be one of the other Gryffindor girls, but it seemed unlikely that they would be so blasé about his experiences with the Dark Lord. However, he felt it imperative to include those in his analysis, anyway. So that left just Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown. The former seemed especially unlikely, and the latter was currently still in rehabilitation at St. Mungo’s Hospital after being heavily injured during the Battle of Hogwarts. Feeling a twinge of guilt in his stomach, Draco tried to bury arising memories of the Battle, trying to move back to his task.

To be completely honest, Draco couldn’t understand how anyone could see him as shaggable, after all he had done. Ready to give up, Draco slowly sat up in his four-poster bed, looking over to his bedside table to check the time on his watch. Groaning, he realised he had spent too long over analysing that blasted note. It was seven o’clock, classes started in less than an hour and he had yet to shower.

Showering was the one segment of his day when he felt like he could really relax. He liked his showers stiflingly hot, and the near-boiling water helped to distract him from anything that was troubling him. During his beginning of his Sixth Year, showering had been the only thing that was able to calm him down. Towards the end, however, nothing had been able to distract him from his task at hand. That had been, of course, how he had found himself crying hysterically in a bathroom when Potter had stormed in and hit him with that cutting curse.

Draco adjusted the heat of the water with his wand, before placing it on the bathroom cabinet and stepping into the beautifully steaming torrent. All of the things he was confused and worried about seemed to completely melt away, streaming down the drain with the water. Standing in the scalding water, Draco could forget about the note, about the circulating rumours, about _Potter_. No one existed, except the water and him. Suddenly Draco felt as if the weight of the world had been lifted off his shoulders, and he could finally breathe.

It seemed that today, however, certain parts of his body were taking to the hot water in a much too comfortable way, and he was bombarded with images of sopping wet black hair and glassy green orbs. Dazed and so incredibly comfortable, Draco did not realise what he was doing before he was too overcome with pleasure to stop. Moaning as loudly as he pleased, since he knew his dormitory was empty, Draco brought himself to climax in record time. He, of course, did not let himself consider what exactly it was that had caused him to get off so speedily.

When he stepped out of the shower, Draco’s mind felt incredibly clear. He felt more content than he could remember feeling since at least before the war, and he was completely unable to pinpoint why.

Deciding it was simply easier to appreciate the satisfaction while it was there, Draco dressed and headed down to see if he could fit in a bit of breakfast.

When he arrived, feeling famished after the walk from the Seventh to the Ground Floor, the Great Hall was full of students. He had only fifteen minutes at most to eat his breakfast, and it just didn’t feel like enough. The one upside to such a quick breakfast, however, was that it was less time he would have to endure staring from the entire school. Apparently he was the biggest source of gossip in the entire school; everywhere he walked, he heard whispers, every time he entered a room, all stopped whatever they were doing to gawk at him. 

What would have to be the strangest bit, however, was that he had not heard a lick of what anyone was saying. It was obvious that the rumours were about him and Potter, but he had not heard a word on the subject from anyone, except for Granger’s awkward apology (for what, Draco was still completely unable to decipher) and the inappropriate note spelled to his door. It was irking on his nerves, actually.

The Wizarding World did not spend a great deal of time reporting on… homosexuality. It was mostly a source of gossip for middle-aged women, similarly to when news breaks of this celebrity dating dating that one. However, that was because papers like _The Prophet_ were run in quite large part by middle-aged women, who absolutely adore gossip. Younger generations, especially those in school, viewed it very differently. Girls are completely terrified of women who enjoy the company of other women, and it was much the same with the the male population’s view of gay men. It was for this reason that Draco was so puzzled. He had not heard any hot-blooded males calling him a ‘dirty faggot’ in the halls, which should not have been surprising had he not witnessed something similar earlier this year with a fifth year Ravenclaw boy who had been thrust out of the metaphorical closet.

Draco sat gingerly at the Slytherin table. The only people within a five foot radius of him were some fourth year girls, who he noticed frustratedly couldn’t stop whispering and giggling in his direction. Choosing that it was best to ignore them, Draco dug into his breakfast with fervour, savouring the taste of his buttered scones and not feeling even the slightest bit guilty about it. _I have a fast metabolism, anyway_ , he thought, grinning to himself as he stuffed another scone into his mouth.

Just as he was about to take a sip of orange juice, owls began steadily streaming into the Great Hall, dropping letters onto the laps of students. Draco looked up, trying to spot his majestic eagle owl, Aquila. As much as he hated to give valuable galleons to such a dreadful cause as the Daily Prophet (money wasn’t as abundant in the Malfoy family as it had once been), he knew it was important to stay up to date with current events, especially since he did not have friends to tell him what was going on in the world.

Distracted by the thought of how many galleons he had given to the blasted Prophet, Draco jumped slightly in his seat when his newspaper was dropped in his lap. His owl soon followed the paper, landing right in front of him on the table and immediately looking at him for his food. Draco happily gave him a few owl treats that he had brought with him, patting his owl and feeling very content. _Who needs friends when you have the most beautiful owl in the world?_ Draco thought, stroking Aquila’s head happily.

Aquila soon seemed satisfied, giving Draco a loving nip on the finger before flying out of the Hall with the rest of the owls. Draco sighed as he unrolled his Prophet, not too excited about the lack of important information he was sure to find in there. He was immediately shocked, however, when he observed the photo on the front cover.

Situated smack bang in the middle of the page was a moving photograph of none other than his mother, Narcissa Malfoy. She had an expression on her face that somehow gave of the impression that she was both stern and kind. Underneath the photo was the heading, “Narcissa Malfoy Apologises!” Feeling utterly shocked, Draco preceded to read every word of the article with careful precision, not wanting to miss anything important.

**Narcissa Malfoy Apologises!**

**_Narcissa Malfoy Speaks Out About Her Family’s Dealings with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, Dimitri Donatelli Reports._ **

_On the morning of April 6th, 1999, I had the great pleasure of sitting down with Narcissa Malfoy as she detailed her family’s dealings with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named in both the First and Second Wars._

_“Fine morning, Mrs Malfoy,” I said, smiling at her._

_“Please, call me Narcissa,” she replied, smiling back at me ever-so-kindly._

_“Of course, of course. Now, forgive me if I seem rude, but I feel it’s best to jump right in with interviews such as this. What caused you to join He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named’s ranks in the first place?” She nodded, not seeming to mind in the slightest, before seeming to consider her answer._

_After a minute or so, she spoke up. “I would be the first to admit that I had admired the Dark Lord when my husband and I had first joined him. I, of course, am a member by blood of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. From a very young age, my sisters and I had been taught that Muggle blood was tainted blood. As a result, we let ourselves believe that Muggleborns and Half-Bloods were less magical than us Purebloods. We abhorred them, and I am ashamed to say that I harassed quite a few during my days as a Hogwarts student. The Dark Lord epitomised everything the Black family believed in, so when my husband and I were given the chance to join him, we were honestly floored, ecstatic even.”_

_“My, that is a lot to take in,” I said, feeling growing curiosity at her experiences on Voldemort’s side. “How would you say you felt about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named during the First and Second wars? Were there notable differences in your opinion of him?”_

_“Throughout the First War, we greatly admired him. In those days, he was very charismatic and we listened to his speeches as if he were an ever-living deity. We ate his words and blinded ourselves to his cruelty, looking at his actions as merely a means to an end. When the Dark Lord fell the first time, I was definitely upset. It seemed that our chance at thwarting Muggles and letting the Wizarding World come out of hiding were destroyed. We were forced, in order to save our skin, to claim that we had been under the influence of the imerius curse. It appeared to us that Voldemort had been killed, and the only thing we had left in the world was our son, Draco, and our social standing._

_“At the Dark Lord’s return, I definitely did not know how to feel. I remember feeling as though I should have been happy, but I actually felt a sense of foreboding. However, Lucius felt as if his life was finally falling into place. He was definitely worried that the Dark Lord would be angry at him for accepting his death so easily, but he was still ecstatic. As the Second War progressed and Lucius was sent to Azkaban, I began to realise how terrible of a situation we had put our family in. While the Dark Lord still had similar values, his thirst for immortality had seemingly grown, and his quest to destroy Harry Potter became almost maniacal. It was worrying to watch, especially since our lives quite literally depended on it. He also became more and more demanding of us, angry as he was at Lucius for ending up in Azkaban._

_“Draco, in my opinion, had it more difficult than either me or my husband. I’m sure you have heard that he spent his entire Sixth Year trying to conceive a plan to kill Albus Dumbledore. He did this, because the Dark Lord ordered him to, on punishment by death. The Dark Lord was merely trying to punish Draco for Lucius’ failures - he knew that Draco was not capable of killing someone. Poor Draco suffered from severe depression much of that year; I know that at several points he even considered taking his own life, he would- he would send me letters every now and again, worried that he would not survive until the end of the year.” She stopped, taking a few deep breaths, looking quite distressed at the memories._

_I decided it was best to move on. “One of the things many are so curious about, Narcissa, is what happened to you and your family during the Battle of Hogwarts,” I said, looking at her with sympathy. Mrs Malfoy looked at me sadly, quite obviously trying to hold back tears. She took a deep breath, seeming to build the courage to tell the truth to me, knowing that she would also be saying it to the entire Wizarding World._

_“It was the absolute final straw for us. We had been through so much: being forced into letting the Dark Lord into our home, watching horrifiedly as others were tortured in front of us with not a thing we could do… I definitely feel awful for everything those on the right side went through, but I will not say that those of us following the Dark Lord had it easy, either. When the Battle began, the Dark Lord obviously had a plan, but he would not inform us of what it was. We were expected to blindly follow him, and while I may have been happy to do that eighteen years ago, I had begun to resent not being told a thing…” Narcissa paused, seeming to consider her words carefully._

_“I am going to disclose something to the public that I did not initially want to say, because I feel it is prudent to exposing my part in the war. First of all, however, I want to say that I am not using this to excuse my actions in the war, or looking to be considered as a hero. When Harry Potter walked into that clearing, accepting that the Dark Lord was going to kill him, I was relieved because it would mean it would finally be over. The Dark Lord would win the war, and everything would work out the way we had originally planed so long ago. It was foolish of me to be so optimistic, but I knew that the only way to survive would be to let myself be happy._

_“Everything did not go quite to plan, though, and when the Dark Lord cast the Killing Curse on Harry, they both collapsed. When the Dark Lord woke up, I was asked to check to see if the boy was alive. All I could think about was Draco, who was somewhere inside the castle, terrified and quite possibly injured or even dead. I knelt down and put my head to his heart, and I could feel it beating. For a split second, I considered informing the Dark Lord, but I decided, then and there, that whatever happened that night, I wanted to be with my family. I asked Harry quietly if Draco was still alive, and when he said yes, I told the Dark Lord that the boy was dead. I’m sure you know the rest of the story. During all of the commotion that occurred, I found Draco and left with him and my husband. We did not discover the results of the war until several hours after it had concluded, but by that point I did not care.”_

_I was unfathomably shocked at her confession, as I’m sure you are as well. As a proud reporter, after the interview I owled none other than Harry Potter himself, asking for a corroboration of this claim. His swift reply read:_

_“Mr Donatelli,_

_Yes,  Mrs Malfoy’s story is nothing but the truth, and it is her and Draco Malfoy to I owe my life. Not only did Mrs Malfoy lie to Voldemort himself, Draco also lied to some Snatchers and told them that he didn’t recognise me. The Malfoys have done some terrible things, but if it were not for them I would not be here to write this letter today._

_Sincerely,_

_Harry Potter.”_

_I felt it necessary to ask Narcissa one more question before the close of our interview. “Out of everything you witnessed, willingly did, or were forced to do, is there one specific action that you regret the  most?”_

_She seemed to consider this with a great deal of thought, before answering, “No, there is not one moment that I regret more than any other, but I do regret that people lost their lives directly because of my family. It would be utterly impossible for me to be able to take away the pain and suffering we have caused you, and for that, I am immensely sorry.”_

_With that, our interview came to a bittersweet end and we said our goodbyes. I can honestly say that I feel very privileged to have been given the opportunity to speak with Narcissa, and that after listening to her story, it is difficult to view the Malfoy family (or at least her and her son, Draco) as evil, mindless followers of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named._

After he had finished reading it, he looked to the picture of his mother, feeling anger rise in his stomach. It angered him more than he could say that she had not told him about this. The interview had taken place three days ago, and she had not taken ten minutes to write him a letter informing him that she would be doing an interview for the _Prophet_? Not to mention that she had never even _told_ him that it had been _her_ that had lied to the Dark Lord!

His mother was a very smart and calculating woman; she had obviously requested an interview with the newspaper for a reason, and he was sure that it was to paint the Malfoy family as victims and as a result begin her slow rise on the social ladder. After all of the willingly terrible things he had done, Lucius’ actions could not be excused, but it was obvious that his mother had been trying to give a justifiable reason for their actions.

Draco could understand that, of course, but the last thing he wanted was for the Wizarding World to see him as a victim. It went against everything he had spent the entire year working so hard for. He could easily have complained about his treatment during the war to whoever would listen, but he had decided to do the right thing and work hard the _honest_ way, which had admittedly been a foreign idea to him.

Another thing that irked him more than he would like to admit was Potter’s letter to the author. He hadn’t painted Draco as a victim, but a hero! Potter had spoken about him as if _he_ was the Chosen One, or the Great Savior of the Chosen One, at least, and he did not quite know how to feel about that.

With a start, Draco looked up from the paper to see students hurriedly filing out of the Great Hall. _Dammit_ , he thought to himself, shoving one last scone in his mouth before grabbing the paper and rushing off to class.

Halfway there, he was stopped by a rather flustered-looking first year Slytherin girl, whom Draco did not know the name of.

“Ex-excuse me?” the girl said nervously as she tapped Draco on the back. When he turned, he saw that she was obviously quite puffed.

Feeling more than a little bad for her, Draco summoned as much friendliness as he could, asking the girl what was wrong.

“I was just- Some girls asked me to give you these,” she whispered, her cheeks flushing. She handed Draco a pile of small notes, before nodding to him and scurrying away, seemingly as hastily as she could.

Curious, Draco picked a note from the beginning of the pile and read it, feeling even more  perplexed with every word that he read.

_Dray,_

_It seems you’re not such a bad guy after all, and you’re at the top of my personal Hogwarts Most Fuckable list. Why don’t we make a night of it? You won’t be disappointed._

_Lilia Turningstone_

Not knowing what to think of that, but definitely feeling more confused than before, Draco preceded to read as many of the notes as he could while walking to Charms, completely forgetting that he had been running late. The notes totally varied in content, but all seemed to be from young women in the grades below him, from various houses. He did not know all of the girls who had written the notes, but the youngest one’s name he had recognised was only in Third Year. 

It was only when Draco arrived to Charms that he realised he was ten minutes late, Potter _still_ had his school bag and he hadn’t even thought to grab some extra parchment and a quill from his trunk. _I’m going to get a T in all of my classes if bloody Potter doesn’t give me my bloody bag back_ , he thought, groaning internally.

Luckily, however, when he slipped into class everyone had already finished copying down the few lines of notes on the chalk board, and had begun their spell work. Looking around the classroom, Draco realised with dread building in his stomach that everyone seemed to be working in pairs. Scanning all of the already matched pairs, Draco realised with surprise that the only person without a partner was none other than Potter. Upon seeing his face, all Draco could think about was the letter he had sent to the Prophet reporter, which caused anger to build in his stomach. Draco stood by the door awkwardly, hoping that somehow neither Potter nor Professor Flitwick would notice him there, and he would be able to spend the lesson working on the spells by himself.

It only took a minute or two, unfortunately for Draco, before Flitwick spotted him, rushing over to him as quickly as his little legs could carry him.

“Mr Malfoy, Mr Malfoy,” he squeaked, looking only slightly exasperated, “You’re a touch late for class, I see? Not to worry, not to worry. You’re a smart lad, I’m sure you’ll catch up. You will need a partner of course,” he briefly paused his speed-talking, glancing around the room speedily before looking back to Draco with a bright smile on his wrinkled face. “Mr Potter here doesn’t seem to have a partner,” Flitwick said, smiling brightly and gesturing to Potter, who was watching them from the other side of the room.

Draco felt sick to his stomach as he watched Potter practically saunter over to them, an almost evil smirk covering his face.

“Well well, Malfoy, looks like we’re being paired up,” Potter said, grinning proudly at his obviously purposeful double-entendre.

Draco just scoffed, doing his best to look as though he was merely bored with the constant air of cockiness that Potter seemed to speak to him with nowadays. Gone was the overly defensive, angry little boy that Draco had taunted his first five years of schooling.

The lesson, much to Draco’s relief, was not as eventful as he might have expected. Potter fired spells at him, which Draco easily deflected, and then they swapped places. Unsurprisingly, Potter continued to make lewd comments, which caused Draco to all but forget about the Prophet article. 

By the time the lesson had finished an hour later, Draco was more than slightly annoyed after having felt with Potter’s constant commentary for the entire period. Draco tried to exit the classroom as swiftly as possible when the bell rang, but much to his horror Potter called out to him.

“Wait, Malfoy, wait for me,” he yelled, seemingly frantically packing up his books and writing utensils and shoving them unceremoniously (which made Draco wince) in his bag. “You must have forgotten that we have Transfiguration together!” 

Groaning out loud this time (Potter was right, he had completely forgotten that the Slytherins and Gryffindors always had Charms and Transfiguration together), Draco tried to scurry away as quickly as possible, but Potter caught up to him in only a matter of seconds. The few minutes it took to arrive to their Transfiguration class were torture for Draco, because this was a great deal different than firing innocent spells at each other. Potter was walking quite close to him, only centimetres’ away, and it made Draco feel unfathomably nervous. Trying to think of a way to put an end to the awkward silence, Draco hastily attempted to think of a conversation starter. Hearing people whispering in their direction, he was immediately saved as the perfect idea came to mind. _And maybe I’ll get to yell at Potter, too, which is a bonus_ , he thought, grinning manically.

“Potter, I have a question for you,” Draco said, trying to sound calm and uncaring while struggling to keep his anger internal. “Why in the name of Merlin’s _bloody_ pants did you tell everyone about what- what happened? And more than that, why does everyone seem to be whispering about me and _not you_? I would have thought that there would be more press over the fact that Harry bloody Potter is a fucking ponce!” The further he got into his rant, the more difficult it became to keep his voice down, fury rising like bile in his throat.

Potter looked at Draco, looking as though he was pretending to seem worried, and whispered arrogantly, “You may want to keep your voice down, Draco. I haven’t come out of the closet to the public yet, and I don’t quite think this is the way I want to do it.”

Draco stopped mid-step, too shocked to continue walking, his brain short-circuiting. Potter stopped next to him, seeming to take great pleasure out of Draco’s shocked expression. “Wait, what do you mean you haven’t come out yet? People have been whispering about me constantly since yesterday morning, and you mean to tell me that you haven’t said anything?”

“Nope, not a word,” Potter said, patting Draco on the shoulder in a seemingly comforting fashion. “I believe the whispering is due to the entire school knowing you have a large cock,” he said, before smirking and adding, “Well, I should say, _thinking_ you have a large cock. Only a few of us lucky bastards know that the rumours are true.”

“Y-you, what, I-“Draco spluttered, not knowing what to say and feeling his cheeks darken from their naturally pale tone to something much pinker. _Blasted cheeks always bloody giving me away_ , he thought frustratedly. 

Seeming to take pity on him, Potter smiled somewhat sweetly at him, stepping closer to him and rubbing his shoulder in a way that was much too intimate for Draco to handle. “I didn’t tell anyone, so you can stop worrying. No one else has to know that you’re gay yet, okay?”

With that, Potter grinned before quickly running in the direction of Transfiguration. By the time Draco had completely comprehended what he had said, he was utterly fuming, and Potter was long gone. 

Too shocked by Potter’s insinuations to remember how to walk at all, Draco stood gaping in the middle of the hallway, not sure whether to feel infuriated or dumbfounded. _Did he- Did Potter just… What?_ he thought, not even noticing when several students nearly ran into him in their rush to get to class.

He was snapped out of his stupor, however, when he was suddenly surrounded from behind by the arms of a girl, the identity of whom he had no idea. For what seemed like several minutes, but could only have been twenty seconds or so, she held onto him so tightly he was struggling to breathe. When she finally let go and sneaked around in front of him, Draco was vaguely surprised to see that it was Astoria Greengrass, a sixth year Slytherin who was the younger sister of Daphne. She had a reputation around Hogwarts of viewing every reasonably-looking male (and even sometimes female) student as only possible additions to the notches on her bed post.

“Dray-dray,” she cooed, wrapping her arms loosely around his waist as she looked up at him with heart-shaped doe eyes. “I read the article in the Prophet this morning, baby. I am so, _so_ sorry. I cannot possibly imagine how _difficult_ it was for you to go through all of that with You-Know-Who.”

Draco felt very uncomfortable as he tried to listen to her superficial words, when all he could think about was how many places the warm hands that were around his waist had been. Shuddering internally at the thought, he attempted to tune back in to her consoling, feeling a touch bad for ignoring her.

All he caught was the tail-end of her speech, which must have been ‘I’ll always be here for you, baby’ or something similar. Not knowing how to react, Draco merely shrugged and tried to look as though he appreciated her sympathy, smiling awkwardly. 

Astoria smiled back at him, batting her eyelashes and running her hands in a seemingly loving fashion up and down his sides. Draco struggled not to recoil, his smile wavering. She seemed not to notice his discomfort, stretching up to give him a wet kiss on the cheek, before stepping back and turning away from him.

“Bye, Dray-dray,” she called, waving to him as she skipped down the hall.

Flabbergasted, Draco stood in the hallway, staring at Astoria’s back as she disappeared around a corner. All of a sudden he remembered that he was supposed to be on his way to Transfiguration and was probably even later now than he was for Charms. Groaning, he hurried as quickly as he could to the classroom. To his horror, when he made it there, everyone was seated and silently copying out the notes that Professor Wimbly was copying on the board.

Lorcas Wimbly was the man that had taken over Professor McGonagall’s place when she had been promoted to Headmistress. He was a tall, middle-aged man with wisps of sandy-blonde hair covering his mostly bald head. His eyes, much in contrast to the rest of his appearance, were always wide underneath the square-shaped spectacles he wore, giving him the air of a child. Everything he did, he did with an unnecessary amount of gusto, which irritated Draco more than he would care to admit. His unabashed passion for the subject had gained the respect of his students only days after the year had begun, and had inspired some of the younger students to become more enthusiastic about the subject. Personally, Draco would have to say he greatly preferred the teaching style of McGonagall, but he could not deny that Wimbly was a good teacher.

Embarrassed at being so late and trying to stop his cheeks from colouring, Draco knocked on the classroom door and winced as everyone in the class turned to face him. Gathering his courage, Draco said to the Professor with the whole class listening intently, “I am very sorry for being late, Professor. I was held up.”

Draco expected to hear snickering from his classmates, but all he got were looks of utmost pity and understanding. Wimbly’s wasn’t much different; he merely smiled, said, “Not a worry at all, Mr Malfoy,” and gestured for him to take a seat at the only free desk, which was next to Pansy. Trying not to show how awkward he felt, Draco sat down and the class continued as if he had never interrupted.

Realising he still didn’t have a bag ( _This is really starting to get old_ ), he looked over at Pansy to ask for some equipment, only to see that she had been staring at him quite intently. When he noticed her, she did not look away, only fixing her gaze right onto his eyes and breaking out into silent tears.

“D-Draco, I am s-so, so sorry,” she sobbed quietly, her body shaking in distress. Draco’s first instinct was to wrap his arms around her, trying to comfort her and stop the tears from falling. It always made him deeply uncomfortable to see women cry, and watching her cry directly because of him made his heart ache.

“Pansy,” he whispered, parting her softly on the back, “Pansy, it’s okay,”

This only seemed to make her even more distressed. Pansy pulled back, her face wet and blotchy and her eyes scrunched in an obvious attempt to keep more tears from falling. “No, it’s not okay!” she whispered angrily, scrunching her fists under the table. “I abandoned you when I’m sure you needed me most. You had to suffer this entire year alone, when you could have at least had me. I was too afraid of what people would think of me to be there for you. And you know what? I’ll never-“ her voice cracked, and she took in a deep breath, trying to calm herself, “I’ll never forgive myself, but I’m going to spend every day trying to make it up to you.”

Not knowing what to say, Draco only pulled her in for another hug, tightening his arms around her and feeling like maybe, just maybe, things could be looking up. If anyone in the class had noticed their bonding moment, they had not shown it, merely continuing to work as if nothing had happened.

At the end of the lesson, Draco walked with the rest of the Slytherins down to the dungeons. He was very glad to have Potions now because it was one class they he didn’t have with Potter. Him and Weasley had not started the subject back up again this year, which had not surprised Draco in the slightest.

The lesson passed quickly and smoothly with him once again sitting beside Pansy, and before Draco knew it, it was lunch time. As they exited the lab, Draco told Pansy that he wanted to stop by the Common Room to get some writing equipment of his own for the next few classes. She looked as if she was about to protest him being on his own, but he merely shook his head and smiled, telling her it was fine for her to go to lunch without him.

“I’ll be there in just a few minutes, Pansy,” he said, grinning and turning in the direction of the Slytherin Common Room. He was shocked, however, when half way there he somehow bumped face-first into a very cocky-looking Potter.

“Well, well, fancy seeing you here, Malfoy,” Potter said, stepping closer to Draco and ignoring all common boundaries of personal space.

“I would really appreciate it if you left me alone, Potter,” Draco replied, trying to step away, but Potter only grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him close again. Their bodies were close, and Draco could feel Potter’s heart beating against his. His own heart was racing; he was completely terrified, but he couldn’t seem to find the strength to pull away.

“Stop playing hard to get, Malfoy. I know you want me too.” With that, Potter looked Draco straight in the eye as he leant close to him, immediately attaching their lips together.

Potter’s lips were soft on his, pushing slightly but not too hard, as he wrapped his strong arms around Draco’s bony hips and pulled him closer. Every inch of their bodies were touching, but Potter seemed to want more. He lightly pushed the tip of his tongue against Draco’s lips and Draco opened his mouth immediately, feeling utter bliss when Potter’s tongue entered his mouth.

Moaning, Potter slid his hands up from Draco’s hips and tangled them in his hair, pulling on the blonde strands, which caused Draco to groan out loudly. At the noise, Potter’s interest seemed to grow; he pulled harder on Draco’s hair, moaning into his mouth and pressing their bodies somehow ever-closer.

As Potter did that, Draco felt something very hard and throbbing touch his thigh, and he pulled back with a gasp. Realising just now how far out of control the situation had gotten, Draco stepped back completely and frantically looked around the dark corridor to see if anyone else had seen them.

“I- I have to go,” Draco stuttered out, running as far away from Potter as his long legs would carry him. By the time he arrived at the Great Hall, only two minutes later, he was puffing from exertion and had to stop to catch his breath. _Merlin, I am out of shape,_ he thought, trying to look calm as he entered the Great Hall.

Upon entering the Great Hall, he looked over at the Slytherin table to the sight of Pansy waving to him merrily. Next to her was Astoria Greengrass, once again batting her overly-long eyelashes at him in a way he supposed was meant to be alluring.

He walked over to the table, trying his best to forget about that unfortunate run in with Potter. Not really focusing on what he was doing, Draco sat in between Pansy and Astoria, and was immediately accosted by Astoria’s hands wrapping around his waist.

“How are you doing, Dray?” she cooed, smiling at him in a sickeningly sweet fashion.

“I, well, I’m fine thank you, Astoria,” he replied, still feeling very flustered and trying to calm down his racing heart.

Pansy looked at him confusedly, and not being one to beat around the bush, just came out with it. “So you two are a thing now?” she questioned, tilting her hair slightly to the side.

Astoria answered before Draco had even begun to process Pansy’s words. “Yes, we are, aren’t we Dray?” When Draco merely stared at her, dumbstruck, she tutted lovingly under her breath, before fake whispering behind her hand to Pansy, “He’s so cute when he’s flustered, isn’t he?”

Too shocked by this turn of events to say anything, and still doing his best to put the feeling of Potter’s slightly chapped lips and smooth tongue out of his mind, Draco made a split-second decision and wrapped his arm around Astoria in as lovingly a fashion as he could.

Clearly very happy with this reaction, Astoria squealed, leaning in quickly to give him a sloppy kiss on the cheek.

All Draco could do was sigh internally, thinking, _Stupid bloody women_. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really, really hope you liked this one! Personally, this is was my favourite chapter to write so far.  
> Reviews mean the world to me! *hinthint*


	4. Green Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I am still alive! I apologise that this update is so late compared to the others. Thank you, once again, to everyone that responded to the last chapter!
> 
> I own no part of the Harry Potter world. Only the plot (or lack thereof, so far) of this story :)
> 
> Warnings for this chapter include: Swearing and a m/f sexy-ish scene.
> 
> Also: I made a floor plan of the Common Room, if you would like to see it: bit(dot)ly/1dPQFP8 (It might help you visualise it a bit better :P)
> 
> I really hope you enjoy this chapter! It was an absolute bitch to write, I've gotta say. But it turned out pretty long, which I hope is a good thing? I was going to add another few scenes to it, but I wanted to get it out as quickly as possible!

Over the next few days, Draco's life at Hogwarts changed drastically. Apparently, while he hated being viewed as a victim more than anything, his mother's interview had helped his reputation more than he could have possibly imagined. He wasn't back to the Top-of-the-Hogwarts-Food-Chain popularity that he had experienced during his first five years of schooling, but for the first time all year, he had  _friends_.

It seemed that Pansy's emotional apology had sparked the rest of the Eighth Year Slytherins to denounce their hatred of him, and once again being accepting him as a human being rather than the ugly tattoo that stilled marked his left arm. They had sat together at both lunch and dinner on Friday, and on both occasions it had seemed almost as if nothing had changed. The most notable difference, however, was that the War had seemed to force each of them to mature. Pansy no longer clung to him like an obsessed fangirl, Blaise had somehow become even more charming, and Draco himself had stopped viewing them all as lesser beings than him.

The most difficult part for Draco, however, was the absence of Crabbe and Goyle. While Draco would admit he had not been the most kind to either of them, and had even viewed them as brainless oafs, they were still his friends. They had stood by his side (however reluctantly) until their very last moment together, when Crabbe had started the fire in the Room of Hidden Things.

After Crabbe had passed, Draco had not heard from Goyle again, other than a short letter informing him that him and his mother had left the country following his father's capture. He had not returned to Hogwarts that year, and his whereabouts were completely unknown.

Sitting with his friends again, as they all felt merrier than they ever had with the shadow of the Dark Lord hovering over them, Draco didn't know whether he should feel glee or sorrow. Instead, he settled on a feeling of bittersweet serenity, putting thoughts of the past out of his mind.

Another thing Draco had to be happy about was Astoria, who had always seemed to be by his side after the abrupt commencement of their relationship. As she was two years younger than him, they didn't have any classes together, but as soon as Draco stepped out of his last class on Friday, which was Muggle Studies, she had pounced on him like a starving lion. He had barely made it out the door before she had given him an embarrassingly sloppy kiss on the lips and latched her hand to his.

Having spent a great deal of the year in the spotlight - and for all the wrong reasons - Draco did not like the idea of public displays of affection. However, seeing Astoria smile at him happily after she had kissed him in front of all of his friends made him feel as though he would have to grin and bear it. Draco did not know Astoria that well, but he had a feeling that she would not hesitate to cause a scene if he ever told her he didn't appreciate the PDA.

Saturday had, unfortunately, been taken up completely by the Eighth Years' need to study for their speedily upcoming N.E.W.T.s. Earlier in the year, Draco would have appreciated the need to study non-stop; it would have kept him distracted quite easily from his lack of company. But now, when the lure of casually sitting around the fire chatting with his friends and eating sugar quills was so prominent, he had a great deal of trouble trying to stay focused.

Seconds moulded into minutes and minutes moulded into hours, and before Draco knew, it was after eight thirty at night, and he had not eaten a thing all day. He looked up from his textbook, glancing across the study area to the faces of the other frantically studying Eighth Years. His stomach was starting to make awkward noises that he was sure the rest of the Common Room would be able to hear.

Trying not to let his hunger distract him from a very important paragraph in  _Advanced Rune Translation_ , Draco shook his head quickly, pinning all of his focus into his studying.

Less than ten minutes later, Draco was disturbed by loud cheering that seemed to be sounding from all corners of the Common Room. Reluctantly, or maybe not so reluctantly - he welcomed the distraction - Draco stood up from his desk and walked the short way into the main area of the Common Room.

At the entrance stood Potter and Weasley, each holding two straw baskets. Behind them, stood four House Elves that had obviously come from the Hogwarts kitchens. Putting two and two together, Draco felt his stomach rumble excitedly at the prospect of delicious Elf-made food.

It seemed that Draco was not the only one that had forgotten to eat; everyone was walking up to Potter and Weasley and practically pleading for a full serve. Even Granger, who would usually be reluctant to put a pause on her studying so close to their examinations, stood and gratefully excepted the plate Weasley gave her (with a sickeningly sweet smile to him, no less).

Not sure how to approach the two, Draco stood at the edge of the crowd awkwardly, feeling his hunger grow as he caught the scent of roasted chicken and sweet potatoes. If he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine the delicious taste of roast dinner hitting his tongue. Draco tried not to groan out loud, standing on his toes and peaking his head over the tops of the other students to see if there was still food left. Only Weasley and the elves stood near the entrance; Potter was no where to be seen.

Draco felt a tap to his shoulder, turned around and fell back on the hells of his feet. To his surprise, Potter stood in front of him, looking sheepish and holding a plate of steaming food. Consciously trying to stop himself from snatching the plate from Potter's hands, Draco tried to smile at the Gryffindor. When a full smile finally crossed Draco's face, Potter smiled widely - but kindly - back, passing him the plate of food.

Potter went to walk away, but Draco couldn't help but stop him by grabbing his wrist, and turning Potter back to face him.

"I- Thank you, err, Potter," Draco whispered in a fashion he knew must have been extremely awkward. Not seeming at all affected by Draco's half-arsed gratitude, Potter smiled slightly before walking back into the crowd, probably to find Granger and Weasley.

Hurrying back to his desk, Draco dug into his food happily, savouring the sweet tastes of each bite as they touched his tongue. Just two minutes later, the plate that had been filled with food was completely empty; Draco had eaten every scrap of food on there, save for licking it clean.  _That is much too uncouth. Who would do such a thing?_  Draco said to himself at the thought of something so undignified as licking a plate clean.

Unfortunately, because he had eaten so quickly, he was beginning to feel slightly sick to his stomach. He was also beginning to feel immensely tired, despite the early hour. Sighing, Draco turned back to his still-open Ancient Runes textbook, struggling to take in what he was reading. The words seemed to blur together slightly as his eyes drooped, causing each word to take twice as long to read.

Half an hour later, Draco could no longer keep his eyes open. Closing his textbook, he put them carefully into his replacement bag, walking slowly to the hallway that led to the Slytherin dormitories.

* * *

The following morning, Draco found himself being woken up obnoxiously by Blaise, who had unceremoniously shoved him from his comfortable four-poster bed and onto the floor. Groaning angrily, Draco felt an angry yell building in his chest, completely ready to bellow, 'Blaise, you bloody  _bastard_ ,' before he remembered that he was in his  _Eighth_ Year. At that memory, the yell died in his throat, Draco feeling completely confused (which was bound to give him a headache this early in the morning). This sort of wake-up call had been the usual once upon a time, but the last time he had been woken up like this was on the last day of Fifth Year.  _I don't have friends anymo-_  Draco thought, before suddenly remembering his mothers article.

Sitting up slowly, Draco opened his eyes to see Blaise grinning at him evilly, his white teeth standing out in stark contrast to his dark skin. Behind him stood Theo, looking cautious but giving Draco a small smile.

"Did you miss me?" Blaise said cockily, his grin widening as watched Draco attempt to get off the ground. He crossed his arms confidently across his chest, seeming to take great pleasure out of watching Draco struggle.

Draco groaned in reply, glaring at him as he finally got to his feet. "Great to have you back, Blaise," he said sarcastically, trying to hold his frown. Blaise continued to grin, raising his eyebrow at Draco's wavering frown.

"Ah, bugger it," Draco sighed, rolling his eyes as the frown slipped off his face to be replaced by conniving smile very similar to Blaise's.

Apparently still his overly-cocky self ( _At least I know something hasn't changed_ , Draco thought), Blaise winked at him before striding confidently out of their dormitory, giving Draco what he knew to be a loving shove as he passed him. Theo followed Blaise out, looking over at Draco with a questioning look and asking quietly, "Are you coming?"

Feeling happier than he could remember feeling, Draco followed them as they headed down to the Great Hall for breakfast. Despite his large dinner the night before, Draco felt almost famished.

* * *

The Eighth Years once again spent a majority of the day holed-up, studying in the Common Room. Not wanting a repeat of the crippling hunger they had felt the day before, however, they had made sure to go down to the Great Hall for meals, which not only filled them up but gave them all a much-needed break from the endless studying.

One exception to the hoard of studiers was Blaise. Draco had learnt very quickly in their first year that Blaise absolutely  _detested_  studying. Another thing Draco had been irritated to learn was that Blaise didn't really  _need_  to study at all. Some how, year after year, he seemed to get at least Acceptable in every class he took without putting in a shred of effort. His Eighth Year had been no different, he had told Draco at lunch that day.

Blaise's lack of studying meant that he had made it his mission to distract as many people from their work as possible. For the first half of the day, all of the students had diligently ignored his pestering until he left them alone, choosing to read a book in his dormitory instead. The second half of the day had not been so successful, however. Most of the students were getting tired, their concentration dwindling, which Blaise was quick to take advantage of.

By the time the sun began to set, Draco found himself seated in a sofa by the fire with the rest of his fellow Slytherins, Astoria snuggled close to him on his right. The floor-to-ceiling windows that covered the wall of the Common Room opposite the fire were slightly fogged-over, and if one listened carefully enough, they could just hear the pitter-patter of rain hitting the stone walls of the castle. Draco couldn't help but feel incredibly light, an indescribable, intangible warmth surrounding him that had nothing to do with the dwindling fire.

As they had chatted merrily, Draco had noticed for the first time that Millicent (or Millie, as she insisted he call her) had calmed down a great deal since he had last spoken to her in their Sixth Year. She had become a lot friendlier, and much to Draco's surprise was actually quite funny. Gone was the brooding, hag-looking girl that Draco had fought with every day. She was still not the most attractive of women, but she had learnt to tame her hair and was constantly smiling. That she was so apparently happy was a testament to her character and maturity; both her mother and father had been given a five-year sentence to Azkaban, and she had been forced to look after her younger brother on her own.

Draco was startled by the feeling of Astoria's fingers stroking up and down his leg. Feeling more than a little bit uncomfortable, Draco turned to her to ask her to stop. When he saw the look of pride on her face, however, he hesitated. Before he had a chance to get a work out, Astoria latched her mouth onto his, her tongue immediately diving past his lips and tangling with Draco's. Trying not to choke, Draco did his best to kiss her back, feeling immensely awkward but trying to banish the feeling. He could almost feel the eyes of Pansy and Daphne, Astoria's older and quite possibly very protective sister, burning holes into them. It became more difficult to ignore with each passing second, but not wanting to make Astoria upset, he continued to kiss her in the most appropriate way as possible.

There was suddenly a quiet uproar of whispering throughout the Common Room, and Draco opened his eyes to find the cause, desperately praying to Merlin that it wasn't him and Astoria.

The first thing he saw was Potter and the young Weaselette practically running past him, their hands clasped together. The Weaselette was giggling in a way that Draco could only describe as manically, and Potter seemed as though he was pretty pleased, too. Before Draco could get a closer look at Potter's expression, however, the pair entered the hallway that lead to the dormitories, disappearing from his sight. Draco could feel disgust rising in his throat.  _Disgusting_ , he thought, trying to keep the scowl off his face.  _They've probably headed to Potter's room for a quick afternoon shag. I didn't realise the Weaselette was such a slag; are they even seeing each other? The last I heard, Potter broke up with her in Sixth-_

"Dray-dray?" he heard, whipping his head around to face an upset-looking Astoria. "What happened?" she asked, pouting her lip slightly as she wriggled somehow closer to him on the sofa. Her hands reached out to grab his shirt possessively, leaning closer as if to start another saliva battle.

Pulling away slightly, Draco smiled at her as kindly as he could, turning towards the fire and leaning his shoulder closer to her in a way that meant that their bodies were no longer facing. "Sorry, Astoria, I'm just a bit tired." he said softly, wrapping his arm around her shoulder and pulling her closer.

Astoria snuggled her body as close to his as possible, putting her head on his shoulder and sighing happily.

They stayed like that for an hour or so longer, Draco becoming quite bored as conversation within the group started to die down. Before long, Pansy, Millie and Daphne had retired for an early night, with Daphne giving him a sharp look before she had left. Blaise and Theo were sitting next to each other across from him, and looked to be getting ready to head off to bed, too.

"Hey, Astoria? I think I might head off to bed, now," Draco said kindly, rubbing her affectionately on the arm.

Draco could see an almost-evil glint flash in her eye as her lids lowered slightly in what Draco thought must have meant to be a sultry way and she whispered, "Would you like me to join?"

Shock coursing through his body, Draco tried to look nonchalant as he replied, "Maybe some other time?"

Astoria began to look offended, so Draco hurried to reassure her, rattling off the first thing that came to mind. "W-we only just began seeing each other, Astoria," he said quickly, before taking a deep breath and looking her in the eye in the most persuasive way possible. "I do not wish to be like other men my age, treating women like they are nothing. You're worth more than that."

Seeming almost moved by his short speech, Astoria made sniffling noises and threw her arms around his neck, beginning to sob loudly. "N-n-no one has e-ever said something so beautiful t-to me," she cried out, her body shaking as she held him close.

Feeling awkward but not wanting to show it, Draco did not reply, simply patting her on the back in what he hoped was a comforting fashion.

Ten minutes later, Draco finally found himself changing into his pyjamas. Saying good night to Astoria had been a lengthy affair, filled with sloppy kisses and several hugs that Draco felt were quite unnecessary.

Just as Draco was about to get into bed, he felt a tap on his shoulder and turned to see Blaise standing behind him, an uncomfortable look on his face.

Blaise let his head fall slightly, looking Draco in the eye as he began to speak with the absence of his usual cocky drawl. "I'm going to get this over with, because I don't enjoy doing this. But sorry, Draco. I haven't the slightest clue what made me abandon you this entire year, but I feel dreadful about it. I don't know when I started being such a fucking prick to you just to help my reputation, but I apologise anyway."

Feeling very moved, Draco just nodded, standing on his toes to give Draco a manly hug, which was reciprocated enthusiastically. When the two parted, Blaise gave Draco a hearty pat on the back and another grin, back to his usual over-confident self.

_Maybe things have changed, but I'd like to think that they have changed for the better_ , Draco thought, smiling to himself as he settled beneath the warm emerald-green sheets.

* * *

When Draco awoke the following morning, he felt nothing of his usual Monday-morning blues. He felt as though, finally, his life was falling into place and that nobody could ruin his perfect mood. At eight o'clock however, when he walked into Charms with Pansy and Blaise in tow, he began to fear that maybe his perfect mood wouldn't last after all.

Draco sat down in his usual seat at the middle of the classroom, Pansy to his right and Blaise next to her. He was aghast when Potter strolled in, took one look at him and grinned, before confidently heading over to his desk and sitting down beside him. Too astonished to say anything, Draco's mouth merely opened and closed, his eyebrows scrunching together in confusion. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Weasley looking at Potter with a flabbergasted expression, his mouth gaping wide. Quick as a flash, Granger gave Weasley a slap on the arm and began pulling him in the direction of Draco's table.

This did the trick to shock Draco out of his silence. Draco turned to Potter, looking quite furious, before whispering, "What the  _fuck_ do you think you're  _doing_ , Potter?"

Potter didn't reply, seeming to simply choose to completely ignore that Draco had said anything at all. Fury bubbling in his stomach, Draco turned back to the parchment he had laid on his desk, having a great deal of difficulty stopping his eye from twitching.

If he listened carefully enough, he could hear Weasley whispering to Potter about him, obviously just as confused and irritated with Potter's change of seating plan as he was. He could hear snippets of Weasley's rant, which included things such as, '-The bloody hell are you doi-' and, '-It's  _Malfoy_ , Harry. Malfoy!'

From the corner of his eye, Draco couldn't see Potter's reaction, but decided he didn't care what it was anyway. Choosing to ignore the three Gryffindors completely, Draco looked up at the chalk board, which Professor Flitwick was currently filling with writing.

Ten minutes or so into the lesson, Draco felt his shoulder being nudged softly and turned to see Potter looking at him, a small smile on his face. Not wanting to be heard by anyone else in the near-silent classroom, Draco leant slightly closer to Potter and with an angry glare whispered, "What the fuck do you want, Potter?"

Seeming completely unaffected by Draco's swearing, Potter merely grinned, leaning even closer to Draco. Feeling more and more annoyed by Potter's cocky demeanour, Draco pulled back, thinking,  _He's going to say something inappropriate, the bloody git_. Draco was shocked, however, when Potter replied with, "Could I borrow some parchment?"

Having been preparing himself to think of a witty comeback, Draco was too stunned to reply to Potter's simple question. Instead, he stared at Potter, his mouth gaping.

"You right there, Malfoy? Need something to put in your mouth, do you?"

Despite mentally preparing for those words, Draco couldn't stop the look of shock and disgust that crossed his face, his cheeks changing to an obnoxious shade of pink.  _For the love of Merlin, stop blushing_ , he thought, willing the colour to go away.

Potter seemed to notice his embarrassment immediately, looking quite smug as he smirked, leaning over Draco to grab a piece of parchment. Draco felt his heart speed up as Potter's body came uncomfortably close to his; he could feel Potter's body heat radiating through his thick robes.

As quick as it had come, the feeling of Potter so close to him was gone, and Draco breathed a sigh of relief. His heart, unfortunately, still would not behave. It continued to beat erratically out of his chest, the sound of his every breath echoing in his ears.

If Potter noticed his manically loud breathing, he didn't say anything, merely placed Draco's parchment on his desk and began working once again, as if nothing had happened. Draco felt himself becoming infuriated once again. Potter seemed to know all the right ways to push Draco's buttons.  _Stupid Potter, acting so nonchalant like that. What the fuck happened to the defensive, blushing little boy from fifth year?_  Draco thought, trying desperately to focus on Flitwick, who had stopped writing and was now demonstrating the set of charms they were about to learn.

From the corner of his eye, Draco saw Flitwick stand up as tall as he could on his stool, trying to command the class of Eighth Years. "Now, class, you are to be paired with the person sitting next to you."

Draco felt fear seize his chest, and he immediately turned to his right to beg Pansy to be his partner, but was horrified to find that she had already chosen Blaise. Doing his best to stop his heart rate from rising exponentially, Draco slowly turned to Potter. Much to his horror, it seemed that Weasley and Granger had paired up. When Draco saw Potter's face, he was horrified to note the evil grin on his face as he looked Draco right in the eyes.

"Looks like we're partners," he whispered, winking at Draco.

_Dammit, Potter. Don't fucking_ wink  _at me_ , Draco thought, practically seething.  _Stupid bloody green eyes, winking at me. He thinks he has the righ-_

"Hey, Malfoy? Are we gonna get started or…" Potter asked, giving Draco a puzzled look at the obviously angry expression on his face.

Taking a deep breath, Draco forced himself to calm down, turning to Potter and rolling his eyes in a way that he hoped seemed indifferent or at least mildly exasperated.

The charm they were supposed to be working on was  _Mutatio_. A powerful glamour charm, when done correctly it would change a small details in a person's appearance, such as the shape of their eyes or mouth. When put together, Today they were focusing on very slight changes.

Wanting to get to work, Draco stared Potter down slightly, relishing the small height advantage he had over Potter. Not seeming intimated by the height difference whatsoever, Potter stepped closer to Draco so that they were only a foot or so apart. "Well, give it your best shot, Malfoy," he said.

Feeling as if Potter's words were a challenge, Draco did exactly that. He stepped slightly closer to Potter, pulling out his wand and focusing on the smallest details of Potter's jawline before closing his eyes. On the back of his eye-lids, he could see Potter's square, chiseled jawline and barely-there stubble so clearly, he might as well have been looking at a picture. In his mind's eye, the shape of Potter's jawline slowly thinned, becoming more triangle-shaped. Draco opened his eyes, concentrating on his jaw. With a twist of his wrist, Draco muttered, " _Mutatio,_ " and was immediately thrilled with the results.

Potter's jawline began to gradually transform, becoming much pointier at the end and rounding out at the sides. Seeming to shiver, Potter reached up to touch the sides of his face, the colour immediately draining from his cheeks as he felt the new shape of his face. "Wh-what did you  _do_?" he whispered, a look of utmost horror on his face.

Draco felt victorious as picked up a piece of parchment from his desk and transfigured it into a mirror, handing it to Potter joyfully. Upon seeing his face in the mirror, Potter's expression seemed to go from shocked to livid in a matter of seconds. "What the fuck did you do, Malfoy? I look like a bloody  _woman_ ," he yelled, stepping closer to Draco and grabbing him by the collar of his robes.

Trying to ignore the close proximity of Potter's body, Draco looked down to his very female-looking jawline and couldn't stop the maniacal laugh that escaped his throat. This reaction only seemed to make Potter angrier, his teeth clenching aggressively as his hands tightened alarmingly close to Potter's throat.

Draco was surprised when Potter was pulled abruptly away from him. "What the fuck do you think you're doing with your hands on him, Potter?" he heard someone yell before seeing Blaise standing several feet away, holding Potter by the back of his robes and glaring at him. The glare only lasted a second, however, before Blaise burst out in hysterical laughter. "Y-you," he got out in between barks of deep laugher, "You're a woman!" Blaise clenched his hands at his stomach as he doubled over, seeming unable to control his glee. After a minute of this, he stood up abruptly and turned to there rest of the people in the room, shouting, "Look, everyone! It's Harriet!"

At that, all of the Eighth Years turned to look at Potter, practically everyone bursting out into laughter in a similar fashion to Blaise. Watching the scene, Draco couldn't help but think,  _Slytherins and Gryffindors united at last_.

The only one not laughing was Granger, who had begun to walk over to Draco purposefully. Completely expecting to be yelled at, Draco braced himself, but was surprised when Granger stood next to him and said, "Well done, Draco! I'm impressed; I hadn't even considered the possibilities in changing the appearance of gender. I wonder how long this will last. I've read that  _Mutatio_  glamours can last up to forty-eight hours, if cast correctly, and there is not a thing you can do to remove it until it wears off. Although, I do suppose the waterfall in Gringotts would do the trick. Poor Harry, it will be tough for him not liking women and having to see one in the mirror ever-" Granger stopped, her eyes going wide as she looked at Draco, waiting for his reaction.

Draco chose to ignore her completely, staring purposefully in any direction other than her and pretending he hadn't heard a thing.  _So she knows Potter's a ponce_ , Draco thought, trying to keep his expression nonchalant,  _How interesting_.  _I wonder if Weaselby knows, too._

It did not take long for Flitwick to notice the commotion. Soon enough, he waddled over the Potter to inspect Draco's work, stepping on the tips of his toes to study Potter's chin. Nodding, he smiled broadly before announcing to the class, "Look here, everyone! Mr Malfoy has done a superb job!" He did not seem to notice that the entire class was already doing their best not to stare at Potter, sniggering quite obviously behind their hands.

Charms maintained its hilarity throughout the entire period, for everyone except Potter. Not much had been done, because it was quite a difficult spell and most became frustrated and decided to use their energy by humiliating Potter further. Before the lesson was over, Potter had already had to both shorten the length and return the colour of his hair back to normal several times. Weasley and Finnigan, more than anyone, seemed to be getting a kick out of growing Potter's so long that it reached his waist, and then colouring it a horrifyingly bright shade of pink. Draco decided to keep his distance from Potter, choosing to read further into the theory of  _Mutatio_  rather than finding a new partner.

* * *

The biggest upside Draco had found from charming Potter was that Potter didn't come nearer than ten feet to him for the rest of the day. It had only taken until lunch time for the entire school to have heard about Harriet Potter, and Saviour of the Wizarding World or not, there wasn't a single person (teachers and ghosts included) that didn't find it to be of the utmost hilarity. Weasley and Finnigan had eventually begun to feel bad for Potter, deciding to let his hair stay its usual raven-coloured mess. This did not make the change any less obvious, however; the few times Draco had been in the same vicinity as Potter, there had been an echoing laughter. At first, Draco had been worried that the Hogwarts student body would think he had tried to curse The Boy Who Lived. It had become clear quite quickly, however, that most people thought he was an absolute genius. Much to Draco's horror, he had even received several hearty pats to the back that violated all of Draco's rules of personal space. Draco did his best to grin and bear it, trying not to wince when it happened.

The main downside to Potter leaving him alone, however, was that Astoria had latched onto him after class had ended, and had not let go since. Draco didn't  _really_  mind, except for the fact that she did not seem to stop talking.

"Oh, Dray-Dray, you should have seen what she was wearing in her hair! I have never seen something so  _disgusting_  in all of my life. It was orange… Bright orange! And she is in Hufflepuff; orange does  _not_  go with black and yellow." Astoria shook her head distaste, as if somehow clashing colours was the biggest crime a human could commit. Draco nodded, trying to gather a look of disgust. In truth, Draco quite agreed with her (orange, yellow and black was an  _awful_  colour combination), but he just didn't have the heart to be very enthusiastic.

They were sitting at the Slytherin table for dinner, Astoria and Draco surrounded by merry-looking Slytherins. When Draco had tried to sit towards the back of the Hall like he usually did, Pansy and Blaise had shaken their heads, pulling him and Astoria up to the very front, next to the teachers' table. Feeling a spike of dread, Draco followed Pansy cautiously as she made him sit. Within minutes, they had been enveloped by Slytherin students from all years.

Astoria was hugging his waist to his left, and Pansy sat to his right. Both had beaming grins on their faces as they chatted excitedly with the others around them, seeming to enjoy their newfound popularity. Draco did not know what to do, so he merely ate his dinner quietly, glad that Pansy had taken over his shift of looking after Astoria. Immediately feeling ashamed, Draco made himself promise not to treat Astoria like a child he was supposed to babysit. It did not help that she was two years younger than him; those two years seemed to do a lot for maturity levels.

Sighing, Draco stabbed a carrot and plopped it into his mouth, looking over at the Gryffindor table out of the corner of his eye. His eyes immediately found Potter's vibrant green ones. Potter was still looking rather feminine and trying to hide his face behind his hands. Out of the blue, Potter looked up and caught his eye straight away. Feeling his face heat up, Draco looked down at his plate bashfully, knowing instinctively that Potter's glaring eyes had not left him.

With Potter watching him, Draco felt like he was under complete scrutiny. He did not know what to do with his eyes, or his hands, or any part of his body for that matter. In order to avoid looking up, Draco shuffled slightly closer to Astoria and leant his head on her shoulder. She seemed to appreciate this show of affection, immediately cooing at him and whispering sweet nothings in Draco's ear, none of which he heard. All Draco could hear was a loud throbbing noise, which seemed to echo in his head.

Feeling a tug at his hand, Draco was startled to see Astoria standing out of her seat and trying to pull Draco up as well. A large grin covered her face, a sparkle in her eye that made Draco nervous. When he finally stood, he was instantly ran out of the Great Hall, Astoria giggling the whole time.

They headed out of the Entrance Hall and started going in the direction of the Dungeons. Puffing, Draco struggled to gather breath as they were running, asking, "W-where are we going, Astoria?"

A sharp pain spiked the back of his head as she shoved him against the nearest wall, pressing her overly-warm body against his. Her lips touched his own, which were followed by her tongue, and Draco knew the smartest thing to do would simply be to follow along. After several minutes, Astoria pulled away, standing on her toes and whispering in his ear seductively, "Don't you want to have a little fun?"

Not knowing what to say, but feeling immensely worried at that prospect, Draco did his best to give her a positive expression. In her flustered state, she didn't seem to notice his uncomfortable expression, giggling once again and pulling him towards the Slytherin Common Room.

Before Draco had time to register what was happing, he was being shoved unceremoniously onto what he assumed must have been Astoria's four-poster bed. Her body followed his onto the bed, every part of her touching his robe-covered skin. Draco's stomach clenched nervously as he fought to gain control of the situation, trying to sit up and push Astoria away in the most friendly manner. When his hands pressed against her chest, however, Astoria seemed to see this as confirmation of Draco's want for things to continue. She pushed him further up her bed, straddling his chest and beginning to sloppily kiss his neck.

Knowing that there was no way Draco could make her stop without upsetting her, Draco closed his eyes and let the sensations overcome him. Her lips were soft and wet on his collar bone, her tongue reaching out to add moisture every now and again. At one point, her teeth bit softly into his skin, and Draco gasped at the feeling.

Astoria was quite obviously spurred on by this, her mouth travelling lower as she pushed his robes off of his shoulders. She fidgeted slightly in her sitting position, her arse lightly rubbing at his crotch. Surprised by the contact, Draco let out a loud moan that made Astoria giggle and press harder.

Too overcome with the pleasure of the pressure on his cock, Draco could knew from that moment that he could not stop. Squeezing his eyes closed tighter, he let Astoria have her way with him.

Half an hour later, he lay sated in Astoria's bed after having cast a quick cleaning charm. Now that he wasn't distracted by his hormones, he let himself analyse what had happened. He had been given a perfectly good hand job that had left him a shaking mess, and luckily Astoria had not asked him to reciprocate. After coming, he didn't think he had the energy to take care of her needs as well. She did not seem to mind, however, by the proud look on her face after she had taken care of him. Draco was also immensely glad that she had not tried to have sex with him. In his pleasure-addled state, he knew he would not have been able to say no, and would have regretted it deeply later.

Cuddled up tightly next to him quite contently, Astoria stroked his hair lovingly, whispering in his ear once again. To Draco, the whispers did not sound like words but like an incessant buzzing that would not quiet. A few minutes passed like this, with Draco becoming more uncomfortable with every stroke of his hair.

There was a knock to the door, and Draco sat up, terrified of being seen in Astoria's bed by her friends, especially after what they had just done.

"What's wrong, Dray-dray?" he heard her whisper, and he turned to her with a look of confusion.

"Your friends are here; I can't let them see us like this!" Draco replied, getting out of the bed and checking to make sure his robes looked vaguely respectable. To his horror, he noticed that his fly was unzipped just as the door knob turned and a Sixth Year girl slowly opened the door. Behind her stood three others, and all of them began giggling haggishly when they saw Astoria still curled up in her sheets.

Draco immediately turned beet red, looking over his shoulder at Astoria and muttering a quick goodbye before scattering out of the room as quickly as his legs could carry him.

The walk from the Dungeons to the Seventh Floor took much longer than usual. It felt as though every person he passed knew of what he had just done with Astoria, and he hated that.  _You shouldn't be ashamed, Draco!_ he thought to himself, shaking his head.  _She's your girlfriend. Of course you're shagging!_

He knew that logically other students would already assume that they were shagging, anyway, so there was no point hiding it. But he couldn't help but feel embarrassed, like he had done something dirty. Once again, however, he also felt immensely relieved that they had not actually shagged, knowing that he would feel much dirtier if they had committed that act.

After what felt like at least an hour, Draco finally arrived to the Seventh Floor, whispering the password three times to the empty corridor. The door to the Common Room appeared, and he stepped over the threshold. The door seemed to creak obnoxiously loud as it opened, and all of the faces present turned to stare at him. Draco could see the judgement in their eyes as he tried to walk as confidently as possible past all of the staring people, down the corridor to his dormitory.

He was stopped on the way, however, by a proud looking Blaise. Not one for 'beating around the bush', Blaise came out with it immediately. "So did you shag her, or what?" he asked unabashedly, his voice too loud in Draco's ears. He was sure everyone in the Common Room would be able to hear them.

"Blaise, kindly  _shut the fuck up_ ," he whispered back, glaring at Blaise and continuing to walk down the hallway.

"So you  _didn't_  shag her?" Blaise said loudly, looking absolutely shocked and appalled.

Draco ignored him this time, stepping into his dormitory and trying to slam the door in Blaise's face. This did not work, unfortunately, as Blaise caught the door before it closed and stepped in behind him.

Continuing to ignore him, Draco began to change out of his robes, not caring if Blaise saw him partially naked as he had done so many times previously.

Blaise did not seem satisfied with Draco's lack of answer, so he tried again. "So you didn't shag her, then?"

Groaning, Draco just said replied with a no that was as proud as he could make it.

"But she was practically begging for it, Draco! Anyone within a ten foot vicinity could have seen it. Why didn't you shag her?"

After having finished changing into his pyjamas, Draco sat down on top of his bed coverings, sighing. It was best not to hide things from Blaise, he would always find out eventually anyway. "She gave me a hand job and I left."

"How was it?"

Draco shrugged noncommittally, muttering a quick 'fine' before climbing under the covers as a way of dismissing the conversation. Luckily, Blaise seemed to understand Draco's gesture, probably doing his best to smother his curiosity so that he could accost Draco the next morning.

As Draco lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, he wondered why it had only been fine. Astoria was  _great_  with her hands, so why did Draco feel as though he was about to spill the contents of his stomach?

Struggling to get to sleep, Draco felt more than a little annoyed with himself. He felt as though he should have been proud of himself for almost-bedding Astoria so soon into their relationship. Not to mention that, as it appeared at dinner, he was back at the top of the food chain due to his little prank on Potter.  _You should be fucking_ happy _, Draco_ , he thought to himself ruefully.  _You have all of your friends back, you just got given a rather nifty hand job and you made Potter look like a fucking_ woman _. It's a great day to be a Malfoy!_

Despite his little pep talk, Draco did not feel very good about his current situation, and he just couldn't put his finger on why. Annoyance seeped into his bones as he closed his eyes, giving his best attempt at getting to sleep.

When he closed his eyes, he did not see Potter's angry face staring at him from across the Great Hall burned into his eyelids. And he certainly did not see Potter's emerald green eyes, so clouded by emotions that it was as if Draco could feel all of them reflected on himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed that chapter! The idea for the charm came from theypatentedus-324b21 on tumblr (thank you!). I hope you had a good (internal?) chuckle from picturing Harry as a woman and his reaction (I had so much fun writing that scene… Look up "Female Harry Potter" on Google images for an idea of what he would look like)
> 
> I really love writing this story, but are you guys actually enjoying it? Cause if you're not it's not worth me posting it up here :P
> 
> Review and I will love you forever! :3 Also you can message me on tumblr - my url is itsrainingklaine. I will hopefully post the new chapter soon!
> 
> Oh! I almost forgot! Something important: Did you guys want a chapter from Harry's perspective?
> 
> That's all! (Sorry for the super long author's notes xD)


	5. Transfiguration

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! I'm so sorry this chapter took so long… But on the plus side, I wrote out the entire plot line, so this story should hopefully have a lot more direction now!
> 
> I own no part of the Harry Potter series, nor any of the characters that reside within it. I only really own the plot, and any mistakes I may have made.
> 
> Thank you to each and every one of your reviews, bookmarks, follows and favourites. I hope you know that each one I get spurs me to continue writing… Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Draco sighed, struggling to contain his irritation. It was only the beginning of third period, and it felt as though it was about time for him to be climbing into his blissfully comfortable four-poster bed. The first two periods he had suffered through had been Potions and Herbology, and while he usually enjoyed both of those classes, they had seemed to drag on forever. Watching the metaphorical clock tick had been immensely painful, and was somehow made worse by the fact that the whole school seemed to have found out about his… experience with Astoria that had taken place just the night before.

As Draco slowly made his way through the corridors, he tried to ignore all of the gleaming faces that watched his every move. He felt as though he should be used to the staring by now, but he most definitely wasn't. The most unnerving thing wasn't exactly that they were gawking at him, but more that every face held a completely different expression. One girl he passed was grinning from ear to ear, like she knew all of his secrets and revelled in that fact. Another was looking at him as though he was a piece of meat, her eyes wide. Draco didn't know what she was thinking, but he had the feeling that it was of him in some rather compromising positions. Male expressions seemed to be divided between respect and disgust, and Draco did not know what to feel about that.

The further he walked, the more difficult it became to brush off the staring. His stomach began to churn and his was sure his cheeks were blazing. Keeping his head down, Draco lengthened his strides and sped up, not having realised before that, just how long the walk was from Herbology to Defence.

When he finally reached the sixth floor, Draco's heart was racing and his head seemed to throb.  _I really need to get into shape_ , he thought as he entered the Defence classroom, slightly short of breath and a few minutes late.

Sitting down in a chair towards the back of the classroom, Draco tried to focus on Professor Davies (or Roger, as he preferred they call him), who was beginning to explain the concept of close-contact defensive techniques.

After the war, Defence Against the Dark Arts had been abolished, and had been replaced by a vastly different class, simply called 'Defence', that integrated both Muggle and Wizarding tactics for defending oneself. It had never been said, but Draco suspected Headmistress McGonagall had changed the name so as to make it easier for students to attend the class without reminding them of the horrors that had been inflicted on them, their family and their friends during the war.

Unfortunately, Draco was the only Eighth Year Slytherin brave enough to show his face in the class. It had not made any difference previously, because Draco always sat by himself anyway, but now - when his friends had finally started to accept him again - he felt the absence of Blaise and Pansy more than he would freely admit.

Roger began to talk to the class about the difficulties of using a wand when being attacked by someone from behind, calling upon a few class members to help in demonstrations. Draco tried to concentrate, but it became very difficult when Potter was called up and began to wrap his arms around Roger from behind, acting out an attack.

Potter reached around Roger's chest, clinging to the fabric of his robes and clenching his fists. They were standing much too close for Draco's liking; he was beginning to feel extremely ill to his stomach.  _Merlin, don't they realise how inappropriate this is_ , he thought as Roger slowly manoeuvred his body to the side and softly punched Potter in… an unmentionable area.  _Look at where his hands are_ , Draco thought in absolute disgust, trying his best not to sneer in their direction. It had been a long time since one of his previously signature sneers had graced his features, and he definitely did not want to begin again today.

Several minutes later, Roger asked the class to get into pairs in order to practice several of the manoeuvres that he had demonstrated. Draco rolled his eyes, feeling frustration begin to set in. Without any of his friends to join up with, he knew without a doubt that he would be the one person in their class of fifteen that would be without a partner.

Surely enough, a few minutes passed as Draco stood in the corner of the room with his arms crossed, with all of the other students happily pairing up with their best buddies. Before long, Roger saw him moping and came to sort the situation out.

"Draco, you don't have a partner?" he asked, shocking Draco with the use of his first name. Of course, Roger made an effort to call everyone by their first names, but he had never spoken to him directly before.

It was all Draco could do to shake his head embarrassedly, feeling like a fool.

Roger did not seem bothered by his awkward countenance, simply smiling and holding out his hand for Draco to take, before pulling him across the room and beginning to go through the self-defence techniques once again. It wasn't long before Roger's arms were wrapped around his waist softly, and Draco began to feel his heart speed up nervously. He wasn't sure what it was about the close proximity that made him so nervous, but it was giving him a headache.

For a few minutes they practiced the techniques, until Roger seemed to think that Draco had grasped the basics. It was then, when they pulled apart, that Draco noticed Potter watching them like a hawk from the other side of the room. Without Roger watching them, it seemed the class had taken to talking rather than practicing, and Potter was no exception.

When Draco caught Potter's eye, Potter looked away immediately, jumping into a conversation with the Weasel rather enthusiastically. Not knowing what to think of that, but feeling a rumble of annoyance begin in his stomach, Draco turned back to Roger and asked him sheepishly if there were any other moves they could practice. Roger's reply was a simple grin as he stepped closer to Draco and whispered, "We could try face-to-face,"

Draco's heart stuttered as he took in Roger's expression and the obvious double meaning to his suggestion. Just as he was about to say something defensive, he felt a tap to his shoulder and turned to see Potter smirking at him confidently.

"Hey, Malfoy, did you wanna join our group?" Potter said with an air of cockiness that seemed to suggest that working with him would be much preferable to working with Roger.

Before he could answer, Roger stepped up next to Draco, saying, "You should practice with them, Draco." He then looked down to Draco and smiled in an overly-sweet manner, before openly glaring at Potter and walking away.

Potter seemed both shocked and angry with Roger's behaviour, but quickly regained his confidence and closed in on Draco, motioning for him to follow the raven-haired man to where Weaselby was waiting with a confused look on his face.  _Which isn't much different to usual, I suppose_ , Draco thought, trying to contain his grin.

Too flustered from what had happened in the lesson so far, Draco simply shook his head and followed Potter, being careful to stay several meters behind him so as not to look too eager.

The entirety of the rest of the period was awkward, to say the least. For the first few minutes, Draco merely stood to the side and watched as Potter and Weasley fumbled around each other, trying to practice the moves. At one point, Weasley even had his arms wrapped tightly around Potter's waist, and if Draco didn't feel ill at the sight, he would be incredibly amused. Especially by the look on Weasley's face, which was the colour of beetroot. Potter looked highly uncomfortable, but Draco could see by the look in his eyes that he trying to hold back laughter.

Draco hid a grin behind his hand as Weasley accidentally stepped too close to Potter, widened his eyes and pulled away abruptly. Their faces mirrored each other perfectly, each stepping back until they were at least a meter apart, rubbing at the backs of their necks.

It was only a few seconds, however, before Potter seemed to recover and turned to Draco with a frighteningly evil glint in his eye.  _My, how times have changed,_ Draco thought, recalling a simpler time when  _he_ had been the one smirking at Potter.

"Your turn," Potter said as he stepped closer to Draco. The tone of his voice sent shudders through Draco's body, and he tried to focus all of his attention on keeping a straight face.

"Did you want me to be the attacker?" Potter asked, in a tone that sounded so kind, it bordered on mocking.

Expecting Potter to interrupt him, Draco didn't bother answering. Instead, he folded his arms over his chest and raised an eyebrow in Potter's direction.

Potter's grin faltered slightly as he took in Draco's expression, and for once Draco felt like he had the power in the conversation. "I think  _you_ can be the victim, Potter," Draco muttered as he stepped closer to Potter, latching onto the front of his robes and glaring down into his green eyes, appreciating the height difference.

By that point, Potter's expression had lost all of its arrogance as he stared up at Draco, unmoving. Their chests were pressed unimaginably close together; Draco could feel Potter's heartbeat under his hands. As they stared, Draco noticed Potter's tongue flick out, just slightly, to give moisture to his chapped lips. It felt as though they were under a spell. Time seemed suspended, and the rest of the world melted away. After what must have been only a minute, but felt like several hours, Potter broke the eye contact and softly manouvered Draco's arms away from him in a perfect re-enactment of the technique.

Draco could not take his eyes off Potter, his heart racing in his chest. The same could be said for the other man, who stared right back with wide eyes.

Eventually they looked away, seeming to regain consciousness of the rest of the class that surrounded them. Draco hoped beyond hope that their classmates had not noticed their odd behaviour. And he definitely did not want to think about what that odd behaviour meant, himself.

With a look around the classroom, Draco was relieved to find that no one seemed to have noticed them, save for Weasley, who looked very confused.

The rest of the period passed in a similar fashion, and soon it was time for lunch. Draco sighed upon hearing the bell, glad that the torturous period was over. Roger dismissed them with a charismatic smile, winking at Draco as he passed him at the door. Not knowing what to make of that, or Roger's suddenly chipper and affectionate attitude, which he definitely could not recall having to deal with before.

Knowing that he was on his way to the Slytherin table, and therefore free of Potter's jibes, he exited the room and picked up his stride. With double Ancient Runes after lunch, Draco was happy that the rest of the day was bound to be Potter-free.

Disappointment began to tingle his spine, however, when he heard the clack of footsteps coming up behind him fast. Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Draco merely turned up his nose and spun around to face, who'd have guessed, the ever-so-loveable Harry sodding Potter.

"Hey, Malfoy," Potter said, smiling in a way that was entirely to kind for Draco's liking. "Did you maybe- Could you- Do you want to study for Transfiguration tonight?"

Draco was stunned, to say the least. The most unsettling thing wasn't the question Potter had asked - although Draco certainly hadn't expected it - but the way in which he had asked it. For some reason, Potter's eyes held none of the cocky, over-confident leer that they had held of recent. Instead, it seemed as though he was incredibly nervous. Just for a second, a  _tiny_  second, Draco felt a small ounce of pity for Potter. It was obvious that he was nervous about Draco's answer, and wasn't that just a little bit curious.

Enjoying the power of holding Potter's emotions in his hand more than he probably should have, Draco paused, taking his time to answer. In the back of his mind, he knew he was being ridiculous.  _Why the bloody fuck would you want to study with that ponce, anyway?_  he thought, beginning to feel angry at himself. For some reason, he just couldn't answer that question.

After a while, Potter began to get restless; Draco could just see his eyes beginning to flash wildly behind his glasses and his fingers twitching at his side. Deciding to put him out of his misery, Draco made sure to sigh as loudly as possible, trying to hold back a grin. "Fine, Potter," Draco said, spitting out the words in as cruel a manner as he could muster. "I'll study with you, but only because without my help you would probably fall on your arse, and we couldn't have the precious Golden Boy doing that. Be in the Common Room at eleven o'clock sharp." With that, Draco stuck his nose high in the air, turned abruptly around and began to saunter in the direction of the Great Hall. He felt suddenly immensely proud of himself, almost giddy, at having finally put Potter in his place.  _Stupid, cocky Potter thinks he's better than me now. I'll just have to prove to him that he's not._

* * *

Just a few minutes later, Draco could be found at the Slytherin table, happy to be eating lunch with his friends after the horrible lesson he had had. He was more than a little bit happy to just be able to chat with Pansy casually (which was not something he would usually be appreciative of), when he knew there were no strings attached. At least Pansy was straight forward. Nothing she said had a double meaning; gone were the days when she had been blindly in love with him, and Draco was glad for it. Blaise was also a breath of fresh air after the strained Defence lesson. For once, Draco was happy to hear his cutting remarks and blatant sarcasm.

Of course, even he could admit to himself that he didn't  _despise_  Potter's company. The man was completely irritating at the best of times, saying all of the wrong things in the most inappropriate ways, but there were certainly worse people he could have to suffer the company of.  _Like the darn Weasleys_ , he thought, cringing at the memory of their painfully-bright red hair and tattered robes.

Struggling not to grimace, Draco took a bite of his apple and looked around the Great Hall, appreciating the sun shining through the enchanted ceiling and bouncing off the walls. There was a serenity that seemed to echo, and it gave Draco a sense of calm that he had not experienced in a long time.

It was only a few seconds after that thought had passed his mind, that he felt his tranquility crash when he was abruptly engulfed by the arms of none other than his  _lovely_  girlfriend, Astoria. Again. It was only the third time that day that she had done so. Beginning to feel annoyance creeping up his spine, Draco turned to her, immediately noticing her exuberant grin. Her face lit up so brightly every time she smiled, her usually long and angular faces taking on a child-like appearance.

Looking at her, his annoyance died away. There was something innocent about the way her short, brown hair framed her face, that completely contradicted the over-sexualised nature she usually portrayed. In that moment, Draco knew he couldn't be angry with her, no matter how many times she accosted him in the corridors and defied his personal boundaries.

"Hey, Dray-dray," she cooed, climbing into the seat next to his and wrapping an arm possessively around his back, smiling around at the faces of his friends, whose expressions varied. Blaise looked bored, Theo looked confused, and Pansy simply raised an eyebrow at him, quite obviously holding back a grin. Resisting the urge to glare at her, he looked away, taking a long gulp of his coffee and trying to get back to eating his lunch in peace.

A shiver involuntarily went up his spine as he felt Astoria's breath on his neck. Feeling her inch closer, he did his best not to shudder. "So, dray," she whispered seductively, "When are we going to have a repeat of last night?"

Internally cringing, Draco merely smiled at her, feeling it would be best not to reply. She waited for an answer for several seconds, but when she received none, she simply giggled and turned her attention to the food that adorned the table.  _So much for my calming lunch,_ Draco thought as he continued eating.  _She might not be able to make me angry, but she can be pretty bloody annoying._

* * *

Draco was more than a tad delighted when classes finished that day. As he walked up the many stairs to the Seventh Floor, he couldn't help but feel exhausted. Ancient Runes had been a mental strain, constantly analysing each symbol and rewriting it more times than should be humanly possible, burning it into his brain. He couldn't let himself forget that exams were extremely near, and everything he had worked for the entire year had led up to the coming weeks. How he did on his exams would make or break him for the rest of his working life. For the average Hogwarts Eighth Year, they had to try their very best in order to gain the marks that would allow them into the profession of their choice. But for Draco, is marks would need to be a lot greater than simply the pass that most hope for. The Hogwarts professors had lied to him many a time about how employers and institutes did not discriminate against their applicants, but Draco knew better. Even if they did not recognise his name and which side it had taken during the war, one look at the tattoo that adorned his left forearm would be a good enough decider for them. That's why, he knew he had to work much harder than anyone else. Not to mention he wanted to be a Healer, and he found it incredibly unlikely that anyone would be comfortable seeing him at their bedside.

His decision to work towards a position at St. Mungo's had not been an easy one. He had suffered through many long nights, fussing through the options of what he could do after his life at Hogwarts came to a close. It had been one day, just before he had commenced the school year, that had made the decision for him.

Narcissa had been ill. It had begun with a slight fever, and had eventually progressed until she had been unable to leave her bed for fear of collapsing. Draco had been terrified, to say the least. With his father in Azkaban, and all other family either in cells next to him or having sworn off talking to them, he had had no one to turn to for comfort and guidance. He had contacted the healers at St. Mungo's, but they had all ignored his desperate fire calls and letters. Eventually, he had dropped in to the hospital, only to be escorted out as soon as a nurse had seen his Dark Mark.

Desperate times had called for desperate measures, and Draco had taken to the extensive bookshelves of the Manor, searching for anything that could help his mother. After several days of searching, with his mother's conditioning worsening by the hour, he had discovered a potion that was said to cure her symptoms.

He had stayed awake all night that night, preparing the potion. And when his mother drank from the vial and began to improve, Draco had felt the weight of the world slip off of his shoulders. It was then that he had decided, he wanted to help people. Maybe if he spent the rest of his life trying to make other's lives better, he would be forgiven for his wrongdoings.

It was that hope that powered him through his studies, day after day.

* * *

When he arrived at the Common Room, after having spent the whole walk thinking about his mother, he decided he needed to owl her. He had been horribly neglectful, this past week, and he had meant to owl her after reading her interview for the  _Prophet_. Life had gotten in the way, however, and he had completely forgotten about it. Sitting down at his usual desk in the far corner, Draco took a piece of parchment and a quill out of his bag and began to write. It was only when, half an hour later, his hand aching and an entire roll of parchment filled with his whisky handwriting, that Draco realised just how much he had missed the comfort of his mother. He did not like to admit it, but she was the one person he knew he could always count on.

Rereading the letter to make sure that there were no spelling or grammar mistakes (His mother absolutely  _hated_  unrefined writers), Draco felt as though he was lying to her. It had felt to get the load off his chest, about Astoria being clingy and how she should have told him about the Prophet article but he appreciated it anyway. However, not once had he mentioned Potter. And as much as he hated to admit it, Potter had begun creeping into all aspects of his life. Not telling his mother about Potter was lying by omission.

 _But if I mentioned Potter, what on Earth would I say?_  he thought, shaking his head and rubbing his eyelids with the palms of his hands, trying to avoid a headache.  _'Hi, yes mother, Potter may or may not have fucked me when we were both drunk, and since then I have been completely unable to get him off my mind because he won't_ fucking  _leave me alone!' Oh yes, that would go down splendidly._

Sighing, Draco decided it was best he not mention Potter. The name would be sure to bring up bad memories for her, anyway. Folding the parchment and neatly placing it into an envelope, Draco put the letter into his bag and resolved to send it to her the next morning, when Aquila arrived with his  _Daily Prophet_  at breakfast.

Suddenly realising that spending over half an hour writing a letter to his mother could technically be classified as procrastination, Draco opened his Herbology textbook (one of the only ones not currently under Potter's possession) and began to read.

By the time eleven o'clock rolled around, Draco's eyes felt as though they were burning every time he blinked, but he powered on. The words were beginning to blur together, and he was trying his best not to check the time every two seconds, wondering if Potter had forgotten about their study date.  _Study session,_  Draco internally corrected.

Not able to resist the urge any longer, he cast a  _Tempus_  charm, only to realise that it was five minutes past eleven. Which meant that either Potter was late, or he wasn't coming.  _Maybe it's for the best, anyway,_  he thought with a small shrug.  _I'll study a hell of a lot better without bloody Potter anyway_.

Closing his Potions textbook and getting out the Transfiguration textbook he had borrowed from the library, Draco decided to begin studying for Transfiguration anyway. Just as he opened the book and began to read, he heard the soft footsteps of someone coming up behind him. Feeling a bit of deja vu, Draco turned in his chair to see Potter standing behind him, in a much similar fashion to how he had been standing before lunch. Except now, rather than looking nervous, his face was covered by a childish grin. Belatedly, Draco noticed that he held a jug in one hand, and a couple of mugs in the other. Feeling curiosity course through him, Draco raised an eyebrow in question.

"I brought coffee,"

With those words, for once Draco felt like Potter may just be the saviour of all Wizarding kind. Repressing the urge to grin maniacally, Draco eagerly snatched a mug from Potter's hand and was immediately rewarded with the feeling of the glass cup feeling with steaming-hot liquid. Seconds later he was greedily gulping down the sugarless liquid, immediately relishing the feeling of the caffeine sparking up his system again.

Before he knew what he was doing, Draco moaned out in pleasure, saying, "Merlin, I could hug you, Potter." As soon as the words left his mouth, he froze, calling himself a variety of insulting names and waiting for Potter's reaction.

If the words had bothered him, Potter did not show it. He simply smiled and sat down in the chair next to Draco, placing the jug of coffee on the desk and nudging him affectionately in the side.

Draco cleared his throat awkwardly at the gesture, saying they should get started with their studying. Just as he was about to turn back to the Transfiguration textbook, Potter interrupted him by unceremoniously dumping a bag right in front of his face, startling him.

"What on Earth-" Draco started, beginning to feel anger griping at his sides.

"A peace offering,"

Feeling more than a little bit confused, Draco studied the bag closer, finally noticing that it was the one Potter had stolen from him all those days ago. "Why now, Potter?" Draco asked condescendingly, raising his eyebrow and turning to face Potter.

Rather than giving an appropriate answer, Potter merely grinned and repeated, "A peace offering,"

Not liking how smug Potter was, Draco wanted desperately come back with something witty and patronising, but instead his mind came up blank. For several seconds, he sat there stuttering away, feeling his cheeks begin to heat up. Eventually, he found his words, simply muttering out, "Well if you think  _that's_ all it will take to bring peace…" He trailed off, knowing it was useless.

Face bright red and his ears burning in what he knew must have been an unsightly manner, Draco snatched the bag from Potter and hid it, intent on ignoring Potter for the rest of their studying time.

It was only a minute or so later, however, that Potter broke the silence and began to talk. "So, Malfoy, how have you been lately?"

Draco paused, feeling confusion overcome him, and turned to look at Potter with the utmost confusion. " _Excuse me?_ " Draco asked, tilting his head ever-so-slightly to the side and squinting his eyes.

If he had have blinked, Draco would have completely missed the way Potter's eyes flickered nervously. "I- Err, how have you been?" he stuttered questioningly, smiling at Draco in a way that could only be interpreted as completely sincere, which puzzled Draco to no end.

"Just fine, Potter," Draco drawled, raising an eyebrow in the most arrogant manner he could.  _See, you haven't completely lost it_ , Draco thought in triumph,  _You can still be just as proud as you used to be_.

However, while Draco expected Potter to simply smile and stutter out something horribly ineloquent, what he got was quite the opposite. All of a sudden, gone was the stumbling boy that had been present just seconds before. The change in Potter's attitude was instantaneous, and quite startling. Potter's eyes narrowed ever so slightly, and he shifted his chair closer. " _Just_  fine, Malfoy?" Potter questioned, his mouth turning up in one corner. Draco felt Potter's body edge even closer to his, and Potter practically whispered in his ear, "I hear you're shagging Astoria Greengrass now. Is she not a good lay? I bet you'd much rather be fucked by me."

Draco felt every pore in his body freeze as he tried not to react to Potter's words. His stomach was fluttering in the most uncomfortable fashion, and with the mention of sex, he could feel the slightest stirrings of arousal.  _Cons of being a male teenager_ , he thought, inwardly cringing.  _It doesn't take much to set us off_.

When Draco didn't reply, and merely stayed frozen absolutely still in his chair, Potter smirked and pulled away abruptly. As Potter moved out of personal space, Draco felt a shiver run up his spine at the loss of another's body heat.

Shaking his head ever so slightly, Draco hastily thought of a comeback, trying to gain control over the situation. "No, not particularly," he said simply. He hadn't exactly  _enjoyed_  his experience with Astoria.; there had been something slightly off about it, and Draco couldn't figure out what that was. Of course, he would not admit that to Potter, lest he misconstrue the meaning and use it as a cause to expand his already-inflated ego. "Why did you need me, anyway, Potter? Aren't you shagging the Weasley slag?"

Potter hesitated, but only faintly, before firing out another come back. "She  _is_  a good lay," he sighed, smiling proudly before nudging Draco in the side.

Draco felt irritation pool in his stomach at the thought of Potter with the Weasley girl. He honestly didn't care an inch about about Potter, but it was obvious that the two were not suited to each other. Scoffing loudly, Draco quelled the uneasiness he felt and crossed his arms across his chest. "You would think the precious Boy Who Lived Again would have higher standards than Weasley scum."

This seemed to do the trick. With Draco's words, Potter's back immediately went rigid and an extremely unkind scowl crossed his face. His arms mirrored Draco, crossing over his chest and his fingers clenching into fists. "Ginny is  _ten_  times the person you are, Malfoy," he jeered, and Draco could see that this time, Potter was serious.

Instead of apologising (because Malfoys  _never_  apologise, especially not to  _Potters_ ), Draco scowled right back, using the small height difference they had while seated to his advantage. " _Fuck you, Potter_ ," he said very quietly, every syllable practically dripping with as much hatred as he could summon.

" _Fuck you too, Malfoy,"_ Potter's glare intensified as they faced-off, their taut bodies just inches away from each other.

There was a loud bang behind them, and with that, the tension between them seemed to snap. They both huffed and turned away from each other, resolving to study without the help of the other.

* * *

Several hours later, (Draco had recently cast a  _Tempus_  charm and had found that it was well past o'clock in the morning), he and Potter had barely spoken a word and he could feel his concentration starting to wave. The Common Room was empty now, and not a sound could be heard between the two except the turning of a page every few minutes. Draco could feel Potter getting restless beside him, and he could barely keep his eyes open himself. Sighing, he rubbed his eyes before turning to Potter, trying his hardest to tone down the arrogance.

"It's about time to head off," he said,

At Draco's words, Potter seemed to panic, eyes glancing around the room frantically in an obvious attempt to think of something to say. Draco couldn't decide whether he felt glad or terrible for making Potter so frantic. Especially when, only a few hours ago, they had been close to duelling. In the back of his mind, he wondered how on Earth he could sense Potter's emotions just by the slightest movements of his eyes, but he decided that he was being ridiculous and that it didn't matter.  _Such a Gryffindor, he wears all of his emotions on his sleeve._

After gawking for several seconds, Potter sat up slightly straighter and spoke up, saying he wasn't tired and that he wanted to study for just a little bit longer. Doing his best to quell his curiosity, Draco just shrugged and turned back to his textbook.

He heard shuffling next to him, and looked out of the corner of his eye to see Potter edging closer to him. Draco continued to read, pretending not to notice. As the seconds ticked by, he could see Potter twiddling his thumbs and rubbing the back of his neck, his messy black hair falling in front of his glasses.

At the sound of Potter clearing his throat, Draco turned, ready with a look of utmost contempt on his face. But as soon as he saw Potter's expression, any rude comment he may have been about to utter died in his throat. Potter's cheeks were tinged pink, and if Draco strained he could just hear the shallow intakes of breath Potter was making.

Deciding it was best to wait for Potter to say something rather than stir him up again, Draco stared at him blankly.

Potter cleared his throat softly, playing with the collar of his robes around his throat. "So, M-Malfoy," he gasped out, chuckling awkwardly in a way that was probably meant to sound casual and confident. Draco could almost (but most certainly did not) feel a stab of pity at how pathetic he looked. "How have you been lately?"

Feeling entirely confused, sure that he had heard Potter ask him that same question just hours before, Draco could't help but arch an eyebrow. This time, when Draco answered, he was a great deal more cautious. "I've been… I've been okay, Potter," he paused, looking Potter full in the eyes and trying to discern the meaning of this conversation. "How are you?"

Draco tried desperately not to cringe at how…  _Friendly_  he sounded, and pushed on, waiting for an answer.

"I-" Potter stopped, taking a deep breath, "I've been quite good."

"That's… That's good?" He hadn't intended for it to sound like a question, but for some reason his brain felt like it was unattached to his mouth.

Clearly quite nervous, Potter let out a small laugh before saying, "I've been meaning to speak to you about a few things,"

Much to his disgust, the topic of conversation was quickly making Draco feel just as nervous as Potter looked.  _What on Earth would he have to talk to me about?_ he thought, asking Potter as much.

Potter seemed to gather his confidence, straightening his posture slightly and sliding his chair just a touch closer to Draco's. Draco tried his very hardest not to notice how unruly Potter's hair had begun throughout the study session. He had obviously not been paying much attention, but it was clear that Potter had run his hands through his hair quite a few times. Why, Draco wasn't sure.

Draco's eyes travelled over Potter's face, noting the light dusting of freckles on his nose, and chapped nature of his lips. Noticing that those lips were currently moving, Draco internally smacked himself.  _Focus, you blithering idiot,_  he thought, wondering why his attention span had become so short.

The first words Draco caught on to were, "Basically, I just want to say I'm sorry,"

Spluttering, Draco looked at Potter, completely aghast.  _An apology? Great Merlin, Potter is apologising to me._

"What for, exactly?" he asked in as calm a manner as he could, feeling utter confusion swirling through his skull.

Potter groaned softly, rolling his eyes. "Weren't you listening? I said I'm sorry for being a bloody prick, okay!"

A triumphant feeling spread through Draco's pores, and he couldn't help but let out a giant, completely out-of-character grin. "Harry Potter, Oh Holy Saviour of the Wizarding World, apologising to me?"

The other man just rolled his eyes, shoving Draco in the shoulder playfully and grinning like a fool. This time, when Potter said 'fuck you' it wasn't said in hatred, but in jest.

Draco tried to tell himself that night, when he laid down to sleep, that nothing had changed between them. But in the back of his mind, he knew that something  _had_  shifted. What it was, Draco did not know (or want to know, in fact), but he subconsciously hoped it would be for the best.

If only he could get to sleep. His mind was swirling with incantations and light freckles, wand movements and cracked lips, potions and spectacled eyes. The last thought in his head before he went to sleep, after finally quieting his active brain was,  _Stupid bloody Transfiguration_.

The next morning, when Draco dragged himself groggily out of bed and into his steaming hot shower, he was mixed with emotions. Studying with Potter had been an immensely confusing and frustrating experience, which Draco guessed really shouldn't have been surprising. Potter had always known how to bring out the worst emotions in him.

Potter's attitude was probably the most confusing things of all, however. One moment he had been the cocky ponce he had grown used to over the last week, the next he had been a stuttering halfwit. He hadn't realised until he had gotten to bed, though, just how much energy it had taken to study with the other man.  _Would have been much better studying on my own_ , he thought irritatedly as he attempted to use the scolding heat of the shower to ease his aching bones.

Half an hour later, Draco was seated at the Slytherin table, happily gulping down his mug of coffee with abandon. Not much up for talking after retiring to bed so late the night before, Draco left the talking to his friends, quite content to eat his breakfast in peace. Luckily, Astoria was no where to be found, so he left to his thoughts.

As Draco went to take a bite of toast, owls began streaming in to the Great Hall. He was able to pick out Aquila almost immediately, his mostly-black feathers standing out amongst the others.

Remembering the letter he had written to his mother, Draco reached down into his bag and pulled it out, turning back to the table to see Aquila waiting for him patiently. His large, orange eyes were staring into his regally. Draco interpreted the noble owl's expression as simply affectionate, however, and gave him a long stroke of his feathers.

Aquila cooed softly and leant his head into Draco's hand, causing Draco to feel a stab of fondness for the bird. Reaching for the Prophet he knew to be clasped in her claws, Draco was surprised to find there was also a grubby-looking letter which was addressed to him in simple script.

Confused as to what the letter could be regarding, Draco opened it and began to read.

_Draco,_

_The following is a poem I thought you would appreciate._

_'The obvious is difficult_

_To prove. Many prefer_

_The hidden. I did, too._

_I listened to the trees._

_They had a secret_

_Which they were about to_

**_M_ ** _ake known to me,_

_And th_ **_e_ ** _n di_ **_d_ ** _n't._

_S_ **_u_ ** _mmer came. Each tree_

_On my street had its own_

_Scheherazade. My nights_

_Were a p_ **_ar_ ** _t o_ **_f_ ** _their wild_

**_S_ ** _torytelling. We were_

_Enter_ **_i_ ** _n_ **_g_ ** _dark houses,_

_More and more dark houses_

_Hushed and abandoned._

_There w_ **_a_ ** _s so_ **_m_ ** _eone with eyes closed_

_On the upper floors._

_The thought of it, and the wo_ **_n_ ** _der,_

_Kept me sleepless._

_The truth is bald and c_ **_o_ ** _ld,_

_Said the woma_ **_n_ **

_Who always wore white._

_She didn't le_ **_a_ ** _ve her room much._

_Th_ **_e_ ** _sun pointed to one or two_

_Things that had_ **_s_ ** _urvived_

_Th_ **_e_ ** _long nig_ **_h_ ** _t intac_ **_t,_ **

**_T_ ** _he simpl_ **_e_ ** _st thing_ **_s_ ** _,_

_Difficult i_ **_n_ ** _their obvio_ **_u_ ** _sness._

_They made no noise._

_It wa_ **_s_ ** _the kind of da_ **_y_ **

_People describe_ **_a_ ** _s "perfect."_

_Gods_ **_d_ ** _isguising themselves_

_As black hairpins? A hand-mirror?_

_A comb with a tooth missing?_

_No! That wasn't it._

_Just things as they a_ **_r_ ** _e,_

_Unblinking, lying m_ **_u_ ** _te_

_In that bright ligh_ **_t_ ** _,_

**_A_ ** _nd the tree_ **_s_ ** _waiting for the night._

_I hope you are doing well,_

_Aquila_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really, really hope you enjoyed that chapter! The poem, which was written by Charles Simic, is called The White Room. I have no claim over the poem whatsoever, only the small part I have given it in this story.
> 
> As always, reviews make me want to write, so… *hint hint* Also, I haven't said this before but if you want to offer up any constructive criticism, or any theories on what is going to happen, feel free!


	6. Friends?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there, everyone! A few people asked for it, and personally I really wanted to write it so, here we are folks! A Harry POV chapter! Yaayy.  
> Hopefully this will help to shed some light on the situation and ease the confusion a few people said they were having :D This is only the first half of the chapter, as I felt it was getting a bit long… (Over 13K, so I hope you like long chapters!)  
> Any mistakes are mine. The Harry Potter world is, unfortunately, not mine and I am not profiting from this story in any way.   
> Just a quick warning: there is a little bit of inappropriateness in this chapter, but nothing too bad. Also, there’s some swearing, as usual.  
> Thank you so much for all of the kind reviews! Each one makes me want to write so much more, so thank you.

It had been a long year for Harry. Well, in all honesty it had been eight long years. Poor Harry Potter had spent almost every day since his eleventh birthday completely consumed over some new adventure or threat. In his first year, it had been the Philosopher’s Stone, in his second the mystery of the Chamber of Secrets, in his third those awful Dementors and Sirius Black… The list went on. 

Almost a year had passed since his defeat of Voldemort, and while he felt as though he should have been very happy, a large part of him had felt as though something was missing. 

Before the Battle of Hogwarts, he had had a plan. Find the horcruxes. Destroy the horcruxes. Kill Voldemort. It hadn’t been a very detailed and well thought-out plan, admittedly, but somehow - despite all of the holes Dumbledore had left - he had succeeded.

To this day he still wasn’t quite sure how.

It was at that point, however, that his plans ended. 

After that, he had been completely lost as to what to do with his life. Everyone around him was helping to rebuild the Wizarding World after the horrors it had gone through, and Harry had tried to do his part. Some were asked to help repair damages made to the Castle, but when Harry volunteered to do the same he had been whisked away to help with the legal process of the aftermath. Those who had been on the Dark side needed to suffer the consequences of the wrongs they had done. But first, each person would need to be heard in front of the Wizengamot, with endless statements from their victims to document their crimes. 

One day towards the beginning of June, he had been called in to identify the Snatchers that had found Harry, Ron and Hermione while they were hiding in the woods. He had recognised them instantly, and was asked to provide formal statements in regards to their crimes. A hearing had followed, and they had been each sentenced to five years in Azkaban. As they were not Death Eaters, and had quite obviously only been working for the money, their punishments were not as severe as others.

On his way out, he had walked past one of the other amphitheatres, and had overheard a hearing regarding the transgressions of the Malfoy family. A million thoughts had run through his mind, but what stood out was that neither Draco or Narcissa Malfoy deserved imprisonment. While he absolutely hated doing it, Harry used his ‘hero’ status to gain entry, realising that they were beginning the second half of the hearing. Within a few seconds, it had become very clear as to what he had missed. Lucius Malfoy was no where to be seen; apparently his trial had been one of the first to occur, and he had been given a cell almost immediately. It was also apparent that Narcissa Malfoy had been let off on probational house arrest. What she had said to achieve that, Harry wasn’t sure, but he was grateful that she had not been sent away. While he knew she had probably done some awful things throughout the War, he knew without a doubt that she had only done them to protect and support her family.

After a statement from the Head of the Wizengamot, Draco Malfoy had been escorted into the court room, hands cuffed in front of him. He had been wearing Muggle clothing: a dirty, white shirt that seemed too thin for the cold room, and grey pants that looked several sizes too big. Harry had felt a surprising stab of pity for the man, who he was used to seeing clothed in perfectly tailored black robes. A Dark Mark was present on his left forearm, and it stood out against his pale skin. Harry could see, from the very back of the room, the judgemental faces of the Wizengamot members as they eyed the mark apprehensively. And at that point, Harry knew without a doubt that they would be sentencing him to life in Azkaban.

He had watched on in dismay as Malfoy’s crimes were read from a piece of parchment, one after the other. After several minutes, the speaker had finally quietened and looked to Malfoy for his account. However, while Harry expected Malfoy to stand up proudly and deny each and every one of the accusations, he had said nothing. Malfoy had stayed seated, eyes downcast, looking more pitiful than Harry had ever seen him. It seemed _wrong_ , somehow, to see someone who was usually so proud looking so broken. Before Harry had known what he was doing, he had stood up abruptly in his chair and asked to give his statement.

Every person in the room had turned to look at him, aghast. The Head of the Wizengamot had been calmer than most, simply gesturing for Harry to begin, his eyebrow raised in curiosity.

Heart practically beating out of his chest, Harry had slowly walked into the centre of the room, hating the feel of all eyes being on him. Over the next several minutes, he had nervously recounted what had happened at Malfoy Manor, how Malfoy had - under the eyes of several lethal Death Eaters - denied recognising him.

The room was silent when he finished speaking, many of the occupants quite obviously disbelieving of his tale. Beginning to feel even more nervous as the seconds ticked on, he opened his mouth and continued talking. For several minutes, he went on and on about Malfoy’s innocence, telling the room what little he knew about Malfoy’s experiences in Sixth Year, about seeing him fail to muster the courage to kill Dumbledore, even though it had been a direct order from Voldemort.

When he finished, he was out of breath and beginning to feel light headed. No one else in the room had yet to make a sound, but having talked himself out, he walked back to his seat and sat down. Not knowing where to look, but definitely not wanting to see Malfoy’s reaction, Harry kept his eyes on the Head of the Wizengamot, who seemed to be considering his words very carefully.

After a short recess, the Wizengamot had declared that Malfoy would not have to visit Azkaban, but was on probation like his mother and would be required to complete his N.E.W.T.s at Hogwarts.

Harry had left the Ministry that day feeling simultaneously proud and confused, and was completely unable to explain either of those emotions.

When the time came that he could no longer help with the hearings, he was at a loss as to what to do. Once, he and Ron had both planned on becoming an Aurors, and shortly after the end of the war they had been given automatic entry into the Ministry’s Auror training program (despite not having completed their N.E.W.T.s), with special recommendation from Minister Shacklebolt himself. However, after spending just three days in the Academy, they had owled their resignations. Shacklebolt had been disappointed to say the least, but when they had explained their need to take a break from battling the bad guys, he had understood. 

Harry had spent the following months at Grimmauld Place, slowly fixing up the house in order to make it more liveable. Hermione and Ron had called it moping, but he still maintained that he had just been taking some much-needed time off. His two best friends had started quite a passionate relationship, which frankly he had been waiting to happen for some time. While it was good for them, it had left him always feeling like a third-wheel, and he hadn’t felt like pursuing the company of anyone else. So he had spent  many weeks practically by himself, making acquaintances with the shop owners in Diagon Alley.

When Professor (now Headmistress) McGonagall had owled them about the prospect of an Eighth Year at Hogwarts that would allow those whose studies had been disrupted by the war to gain their N.E.W.T.s, Hermione had of course strongly urged him to take the opportunity. ‘Maybe it will help you decide what you want to do, Harry,’ she had told him sympathetically.

So when September 1st had rolled around, Harry had, admittedly reluctantly, boarded the Hogwarts Express with his friends.

It had only taken a few days to settle back into the life of a Hogwarts student. Classes weren’t much different to those in his Sixth Year; the main difference was the Eighth Year Common Room, which housed students from all houses. He had been shocked upon discovering this, wondering how he would be able to put up with the Slytherins, but reminded himself not to judge others by their house. The past was in the past, and he had learnt after Snape that people were not always what they seemed.

What had also been difficult was dealing with the loss of the teachers and students that had been there before the war, and no longer were. Much to his devastation, Collin Creevy had died during the war. Lavender Brown had also suffered severe injuries, and needed to spend an entire year in St. Mungo’s recovery unit.

And as much as he had hated Snape for his entire schooling, he couldn’t help but feel like Hogwarts felt different without his distasteful snarls and swishing black robes.

Something intangible, however, had also felt irrefutably different. _He_ had felt different, and he couldn’t for the life of him pinpoint why.

Trying to ignore that strange feeling in his stomach, he had gone about his life as normal. Each day, he would attend classes with Ron, Hermione and the other Eighth Years, and spend his evenings studying or playing Wizard Chess with Ron in the Eighth Year Common Room, like the good old days.

Ginny had come up to him during lunch in their second week, affectionately telling him how, with Voldemort gone, they could resume their relationship as if nothing had changed. While he hadn’t been completely sure that that was what he’d wanted, he had simply smiled and told her that he was happy to. He had thought, at the time, that it would be the right thing for him. In his Sixth Year, he had been sure they would one day get married, and he desperately wanted to get back to that. _Maybe getting back with her will give my life the direction it needs,_ he had thought desperately.

After a few weeks, however, it became increasingly clear that his relationship with Ginny had changed since they had broken up the first time. What had once felt like romantic love now felt like the affection shared between brother and sister. He had ignored that ever-present uncomfortable feeling in his stomach at first, but when she had tried to suggest that their relationship move beyond kisses, he had blanched and decided that something needed to be done.

He had broken up with her shortly after, giving her as sincere excuses as he could think up. ‘I just need a break, Gin,’ he had said softly, trying to ignore the heartbroken look on her face. ‘I need to sort out my life a bit before I try to think about relationships. It just feels a bit too soon…’

She had been angry, but had understood his need for space. Giving him a kiss on the cheek, she had told him he would need to make up his mind soon, because she wouldn’t be waiting around for him forever.

Of course, despite her reassurances, Harry had felt absolutely awful. It hadn’t been until a week later that he had begun to see why exactly he hadn’t felt right about dating Ginny.

He had been wandering around the Common Room casually, trying to find some way to procrastinate the awful Care of Magical Creatures report he needed to begin. Ron and Harry had taken the class in order to keep Hagrid company; he had been quite shaken after the final Battle, as much as his tough exterior would suggest otherwise. It was also a fairly easy class, and after all of the work they had done to defeat Voldemort, the pair had not wanted to take tough classes. That particular evening, however, he had already finished the work for his other classes, and writing a report on the effects of Streeler venom on different plants had been the last thing Harry felt like doing. Unfortunately, Ron and Hermione had escaped to have a romantic stroll around the castle grounds, leaving Harry with nothing to do. 

Neville, Seamus and Dean were no where to be found, either, so Harry had been forced to look for other sources of entertainment. Seeing a few of the Eighth Year girls huddled together and giggling on one of the couches, his curiosity had spiked. When he came up behind them, he had immediately seen what it was they were so fascinated with. One of the girls had obviously smuggled in a magazine, the pages of which were filled with near-naked men. Expecting to be repulsed at the sight of their oily bodies, Harry had been confounded when he felt his blood begin to rush south. Cheeks burning bright red, he had escaped to his dormitory, where he had spent the next several hours wallowing in confusion.

Over the following weeks, Harry struggled with the knowledge that he may be attracted to men. He wanted desperately to think that it was something other than the male bodies that had sparked the attraction in the Magazine, but he knew he would be lying to himself. When he thought about it, he realised that his focus on Voldemort throughout his schooling had meant he had had very little time to think of anyone in a sexual manner. Only Cho, who he had bonded with over their loss of Cedric, and Ginny, whom he had only felt comfortable snogging.

He began trying to take notice of the other men around Hogwarts, seeing if he felt any attraction to them. It had been difficult, however, to see attraction in anyone under their layered robes, so his results had not been definitive.

When he had sat down in the stands for the first Quidditch match of the year, he had been busy moping about having to watch rather than play as Eighth Years were expected to focus on their studies. Both teams had entered onto the field, and Harry had been snapped out of his train of thought, his eyes finding themselves glued to the male figures as they had risen from the ground on their broomsticks. During the course of the game, Harry had not been able to force himself to pay attention to a single play. All he had seen were the way the figures’ muscles bulged under their form-fitting Quidditch robes, or the way the broom shifted between their legs.

By the time the game had finished, Harry was half-hard beneath his robes and had practically forgotten how to walk. The worst part was, in the back of his mind, Harry knew that he had not felt an ounce of attraction toward the women on the field.

It had been impossible to deny after that. Harry Potter was a ponce. A bloody ponce.

After that, it became progressively more difficult to go on as if everything was normal. Every time one of his friends mentioned anything about women, he would flinch and look away, his heart beating erratically in his chest.

He felt suffocated, having to listen to the others gripe on about how attractive one model was, or how one student in Seventh Year had a knack for blow jobs, and was systematically working through the entire Hogwarts food chain. It made him sick, and he couldn’t bring himself to pretend to be interested. His friends had noticed that something was off, but had merely dismissed his attitude as post-war blues.

Soon Christmas was around the corner, and Harry began counting down the days until he could take a break from Hogwarts, and sleep in his lumpy old bed at Number 12.

His first night out of Hogwarts, Harry had gotten unfathomably plastered. So happy was he to be free of the confines of the castle, he had enthusiastically taken Ron up on his offer for a few drinks at the Leaky Cauldron. After his fifth shot of Firewhiskey, he had stopped counting, and before long the two were stumbling out the door and looking for somewhere more lively to continue their drinking.

The first place they came upon was a Muggle club, the name of which they had not paid attention to. Harry had easily, even in his drunken state, confounded the security guard at the door to let them in, and within minutes the two were consumed by the heat of the club.

What had happened after that, Harry had very little remembrance of, but what he could recall quite clearly was waking up the next morning in a house he was not familiar with, with a murderous headache and quite a pain in the backside.

Putting two and two together had not taken long, and Harry had panickingly fled the stranger’s house with barely more than a goodbye.

The rest of the break had been quite enjoyable for Harry, he could admit. Reducing his alcohol intake drastically to stop himself from being sloppy, he had gone out the next night and found the most attractive man in the club, proceeding to shag him absolutely senseless. 

If he thought he had been sure after the Quidditch match that he liked men, he was definitely sure after that. Having already drunkenly said goodbye to his virginity, Harry had paid little mind to promiscuousness as he had slept with a new man each night.

It was only then, as he partied through the week that he felt he could be himself again. The War had consumed his entire life, and now it was finally over. _Hopefully_ , he had thought, _I’ll be able to focus on just being myself now, no more noose around my neck._

Returning to Hogwarts had felt like entering a prison after the fun he had had over the break, but he had sucked it up and let himself fall back into the swing of things.

Having opened himself up to a new wealth of feelings, Harry felt as though he had been so young and naive before. He began to be more receptive to what was happening around him, letting himself secretively admire the forms of his male companions.

He had been undeniably shocked, however, when one weekend he had seen Malfoy accidentally drop a quill onto the ground, proceeding to bend over to pick it up. Much to Harry’s horror, Malfoy’s perfectly-shaped arse had been pointed right in his direction, and he had had to stop himself from reaching out and giving it a quick squeeze. 

Each time he had seen Malfoy after that, Harry had been unable to keep from ogling his thin but rigid frame. Even when he was wearing loose robes that offered nothing to the imagination, Harry would find himself picturing him naked and splayed out beneath him.

Needless to say, Harry had been absolutely disgusted with himself. _It’s Malfoy,_ he had told himself many times, _Stupid, cocky, arrogant Malfoy._ Death Eater _Malfoy. The very Malfoy you have spent your entire school hating. Get it together!_

Unluckily for Harry, nothing he told himself helped with the attraction.

Just two days after he had realised his attraction to Malfoy, Harry had gotten off to the thought of shagging him. He had tried to resist, ignoring the throbbing in his pyjama pants as he had started up into the ceiling, trying to sleep. He had tried not to let his fingers wander near his waist-band. He had tried, when he had grasped a hand around his length, not to picture Malfoy’s head between his legs. He hadn’t, apparently, tried hard enough.

Seeing Malfoy in Defence the next day had been difficult, for two reasons. The first was obvious; if Harry had struggled not to picture Malfoy naked before, it became about ten times harder after wanking over him (pun completely intended). The second became apparent as soon as Harry was able to tear his eyes from Malfoy’s delectable arse to look at his face. He was more than shocked to see the blank expression held there. There was absolutely no trace of the self-important smirk that had once been practically permanently plastered to his face. Harry briefly wondered if he was the same person he had hated so much for so long. In a moment of wisdom, he realised that while Malfoy’s shell may be the same, the person inside had probably been changed forever.

He had seen it, of course, in that hearing all those months ago. He had seen how broken he was. And he had noticed, in the back of his mind, all year. But he hadn’t acknowledged it. Now that Voldemort was gone, he knew Draco wasn’t… up to no good any more. So he no longer had any reason to watch him out of the corner of his eye.

When he thought about it, however, he realised that he had been watching Malfoy all year. He felt awful for the fact that, out of all of the time he was watching him, he had never noticed just how broken he looked.

The months that followed were difficult for Harry. With every day that passed, it became increasingly difficult for him to hide from his friends. He had yet to tell Ron and Hermione about his… revelation, and it was eating him more than he could say.

Each day became an adventure of dodging questions about Ginny; trying not to stare at Malfoy; listening to his friends go on and on about the women in their lives; seeing a shirtless man and trying to quell a rising hard-on; feeling awful about how closed off Malfoy seemed from everyone, but not being able to help; having to clench his teeth together when hearing the girls talk about someone attractive for fear of accidentally participating… The list went on.

Coupling that with the increasingly large amount of work he needed to complete each night, by the time April came, he was worn out.

On the morning of the seventh of April, he had been owled by a reporter in regards to Narcissa Malfoy’s place in the war. Having not needed to give a statement about her in court like he had for her son, he felt as if he owed her to confirm that her story was true. He tried his very best not to let his attraction to Draco get in the way of his response, but reading back on it before he owled it, he didn’t feel like he’d done that great of a job. He had decided to send it anyway, consequences be damned.

Several hours later, he could be found sitting in the Common Room, eyes drooping as he poured over his Charms textbook, the words blurring together. He felt as though his life was saved when a merry Seamus trotted into the Common Room, boasting of smuggled alcohol. After that, he completely abandoned his textbooks in favour of chugging as much alcohol as he could in the space of five minutes.

And, as a result, the rest of the night was certainly interesting.

All it took for Harry Potter to completely unravel, apparently, was fatigue, a bottle of Firewhiskey, and an unhealthy amount of attraction for his arch-nemesis.

What had happened that night he was not exactly proud of, but he could never forget it.

Malfoy had been sitting there, as people had passed around the alcohol and chugged it down eagerly, pretending that they didn’t exist. And he hadn’t been able to help himself. He had started a Muggle game he had once seen Dudley playing with his friends when they were young. If he had suggested the game with the hope of maybe, possibly getting to snog Malfoy, well. That wasn’t the point. It was a fun game. _Well, it seemed fun from the side lines,_ Harry had lamely reasoned with himself.

So, he had grabbed him by the hand and dragged him to where everyone was getting comfortable in a circle on the carpet, and shoved him onto the ground.

As the game had progressed, Harry had watched nervously as pair after pair snogged enthusiastically across the circle, taking regular swigs of his glass of Firewhiskey. He could feel himself getting progressively more off-kilter, but ignored it in favour of forgetting all about his endless worries. Eventually, the bottle had landed on him and he had half-heartedly kissed Padma Patil for as short a time as was polite.

Excitement erupted in his stomach as he grasped the glass bottle and, with all of his might, spun it, wishing desperately that it would land on Malfoy. And when it had, he ignored the possibility that he had wandlessly spelled it to face him and turned to Malfoy with an electrified grin. Excitement had bubbled in his chest maniacally as he had crawled closer to Malfoy, his heart beating erratically out of his chest. 

They had inched closer and closer, and Harry could see Malfoy’s nervousness painted on his face, despite his intoxication. Making the most of the moment, he practically snarled at Malfoy like he was his prey, completely forgetting about the other bodies around them. When they were just centimetres away, Harry could see all of the flecks of grey in his wide eyes and the texture of his pale pink lips, and his breath hitched. 

Harry had dived in enthusiastically, attaching his lips to Malfoy’s with a sigh of contentment. Malfoy’s lips tasted better than the sweetest treacle tart, to his alcohol-addled brain, and when Malfoy’s mouth opened, his tongue acted completely of its own accord, tumbling with Malfoy’s. He could feel himself getting painfully hard as the seconds ticked by, and his heart almost stopped when he felt Malfoy’s hand tangle in his hair.

Much to his dismay, Harry felt a sharp jab to his behind, and abruptly pulled away from the kiss, coming to his senses and moving back to his side of the circle.

He tried his very hardest not to watch Malfoy, but as the game continued, Harry couldn’t help but notice the way he stared into space, expression blank. _I guess I’m a good kisser, then, Malfoy?_ he had thought with a smug grin.

After such a wonderful snog, Harry found he didn’t have the attention span to continue watching the game. Instead, he entertained very vivid fantasies of pushing Malfoy up against the back wall and shagging him senseless. The fantasies were so vivid that his slacks were tightening even more than they had when had kissed Malfoy, and he itched to find a way to release that pressure. 

Completely out of the blue, Malfoy had stood up and declared that he was turning up the music, and within seconds all of the Common Room’s occupants were dancing merrily around the room. Harry hadn’t realised, but Malfoy must have drunk a fair bit because he was swinging his hips in a completely undignified manner. So undignified, in fact, that Harry’s eyes were glued to his arse and he felt as though he might come in his pants just from watching him.

Moaning out much louder than he intended, Harry swallowed the last of his drink and began to follow Malfoy’s delectably swinging hips. When Draco abruptly turned around, Harry shadowed him in order to stay hidden. It was then that he had gotten what he considered to be a fabulous idea. Coming closer and closer to Malfoy, Harry had reached out and wrapped his hands around Malfoy’s pointy hips, pulling him backwards towards him. He walked backwards into the corner of the Common Room, his mind swirling with possibilities. When he had stopped abruptly, however, he felt Malfoy’s behind come into contact the bulge in his pants, and groaned out load. Malfoy seemed to gasp in shock at the feel of his cock, before turning around to identify his ‘kidnapper’.

The way Malfoy had gasped his name had only spurred him on more, and he had eagerly pulled Malfoy in for another mind-blowing kiss.

And Harry had known, without a single doubt, that Malfoy had been into it. Malfoy had practically shoved him against the wall and pressed their erections together, and Harry had felt as though he might die of pleasure.

His intoxicated brain had been completely confused, however, when Malfoy had abruptly pulled away, calling him a ponce. Harry’s reply had been to mutter something about Malfoy enjoying it just as much as him, before he brought their lips together once again.

That had been the beginning of one of the best nights of Harry’s life. Despite the copious amounts of alcohol he had drunk, he knew he would never forget a single second of what had transpired.

After what had been the best sex of his life, Malfoy had seemed to come to his senses, and had unceremoniously pushed his sated body away. While he would never admit it, Harry had been devastated. 

When he’d woken up the following morning, his head had felt as though it was about to explode and the inside of his mouth felt like it was covered in some sort of fungus. As he lay in bed, bits and pieces of the night before started to come back to him. 

He was completely overcome with a mixture of emotions, having no idea what exactly he was meant to feel.

Maybe, the strongest emotion he felt was that of joy, because drunk or not, Malfoy had enjoyed himself. So no matter how “straight” he claimed to be, there was always the possibility that he would want to come back for more. And that thought was like a parasite on his mind; he couldn’t shake it.

Not feeling so ill anymore from the hope that was expanding his chest, Harry practically jumped out of bed and began to get ready for classes. The other Gryffindor boys were all still in bed, save for Neville who had opted out of drinking himself silly. As he passed their beds on the way to the bathroom, Harry noted that Dean and Seamus were sleeping closely together on Dean’s bed. Not surprised, as they did it often - they had been best friends from their very first day at Hogwarts - Harry completely ignored them and went to go have a shower.

Standing under the lukewarm water, Harry almost felt sad to be washing off the traces of his night with Malfoy, but he stopped himself. _So you shagged, no reason to get all lovey-dovey about it,_ he thought with a roll of his eyes.

When he arrived at the Common Room, Harry was surprised to note that it was almost empty. Confused, he cast a _Tempus_ charm, feeling ridiculous when he saw that it wasn’t even six o’clock yet.

At a loss as to what to do, and not wanting to head down to breakfast by himself, he walked over to the desks and sat down. The last thing he wanted to do was study, so he laid back in his chair with closed eyes and relived the night before. Stretching out his legs under the desk, he felt his foot come into contact with something, and startlingly opened his eyes.

Ducking his head under the desk, he saw that the object he had kicked was simply a school bag. Wanting to do the right thing and return it to its owner, he pulled it up onto the desk and looked for a name tag.

He was undeniably pleased when he found that _Draco Abraxas Malfoy_ was written in thin, sloping script on the side of the bag. _Now I have an excuse to confront him_ , Harry thought with a manipulative glint of his eye.

Harry had waited as patiently as he could in the Common Room for Malfoy to appear. Other Eighth Years began to groggily walk into the Common Room as the minutes ticked by. At quarter-past six, Harry noticed that many of the girls had gathered on the couch near the fire and were whispering frantically. Curiosity piquing, Harry swung Malfoy’s bag onto his shoulder for safe keeping and walked as closely to the girls he could without them noticing. From where he was standing, he could just hear snippets of their conversation.

“Surely not-“

“I’m telling you, Lilia told me-“

“But _Malfoy_?”

Hearing the object of his attraction’s name, Harry listened closer to their conversation.

“Are you _sure_ , though? Lilia’s word isn’t exactly reliable, of course.”

“Well she said that she heard it from someone in Slytherin house who had slept with him before well, you know, everything went down. Her exact words to Lilia were apparently, ‘Draco Malfoy is an _amazing_ shag, especially since he’s really well-endowed - the biggest I’ve ever seen!’”

One of the girls giggled, saying, “Maybe I should ask him if I can have a ride,”

Having to hold back a bark of laughter, Harry shook his head in amusement and went to go sit back at the desk, completely ignoring the spike of jealously he felt. 

 _Well, whoever slept with Malfoy was right. He is a great shag,_ Harry thought with a grin. _But I’m sorry girls, I’m afraid Malfoy is probably not interested in shagging someone with your mechanics._ He completely ignored the fact that he had no conclusive proof that Malfoy was actually into men. As he sat there, he could practically hear the rumour spreading around Hogwarts as students headed down to breakfast.

So amused by this new rumour, Harry almost didn’t notice the Common Room becoming completely silent, and he turned to see Malfoy’s confused face. All of Malfoy’s emotions were as easy to read as a book as he walked around the Common Room, quite obviously looking for something. Harry realised smugly that he was probably looking for his bag and feeling a bit manipulative, he pushed the bag further under his desk.

After several minutes of frantic searching, Malfoy seemed to get up, visibly sighing and beginning to walk out of the Common Room. Figuring that this was his chance to confront him, Harry followed. Just as Malfoy stepped over the threshold, Harry slipped behind him, narrowly missing the slamming of the Common Room door. Knowing he only had a split second to make a decision, Harry’s mind began to work a million miles an hour.

 _He’s never shown any interest before, but I got him to show interest last night by being too forward. Maybe that’s the only way to get to him,_ he told himself, feeling nervousness build in the pit of his stomach.

Screwing up his courage, he grabbed Malfoy by the collar of his robes and shoved him roughly against the wall, feeling sheer adrenaline pumping through his veins. It was only seconds later, however, that he was just as roughly pushed away with Malfoy telling him to fuck off.

Not having expected anything less, Harry followed Malfoy as he tried to leave, running around him so that he was blocking the entrance to the stair case. Trying not to feel too nervous, Harry let the most inappropriate thing he could think off slip out of his mouth, which happened to be, “Was that _before_ or _after_ you screamed my name, Malfoy?”

Harry _was_ surprised, however, when Malfoy began to cough uncontrollably. Hero instincts kicking in, he grabbed his shoulders to try and keep him upright, only to be shoved away again. Accepting that Malfoy didn’t want his help, Harry simply stapled on the cockiest grin he could form and watched as Malfoy struggled to breathe.

Eventually Malfoy seemed to gain control of his lungs and began to stalk away from him, practically running. Panicking, Harry yelled out to him.

He was surprised, but pleased, when Malfoy responded to his call and turned around. Feeling bad for causing the coughing fit, Harry asked Malfoy if he would like his bag back, trying to hold onto the over-confident smile he had plastered to his face.

Much to his annoyance, Malfoy had only shrugged and walked away, as if he didn’t need the bag to attend classes. Harry’s smile slipped from his face as he was overcome with the feeling of utmost failure.

 _Maybe that wasn’t the right way to handle it_ , he thought as his face scrunched up in a combination of annoyance and pitifulness.

 

After his run-in with Malfoy, Harry made his way to breakfast alone. When he got there, he found that Hermione was already sitting at the Gryffindor table, chatting quietly with Parvati. Sitting down beside her, he greater her good morning and asked her how she was going.

“I’m fine, Harry,” she said, looking at him out of the corner of her eyes.

Harry instantly knew something as up. “What’s wrong, Hermione?” he asked tiredly.

Hermione seemed to look awkward for a minute, before facing Harry front on and looking him seriously in the eye. “Harry,” she said, pausing. She seemed to consider her words carefully for a moment. “I don’t want to pry… But what exactly happened with you and Malfoy last night?”

Feeling shock immediately overcome him, all Harry could do was stare at her, mouth gaping. “I- Well- We,” he stuttered, eyes flashing around the room nervously. “What do _you_ think happened?”

Still looking incredibly nervous, Hermione leant slightly closer to him and whispered, “Well, I don’t have a clue, really.”

All Harry could do was sigh, and give a noncommittal shrug, feeling instantaneously calmer. “It was nothing,” he replied with a small smile. Hermione didn’t look at all convinced, but shook her head slightly and turned back to Parvati.

He knew, without a doubt, that Hermione would figure it out sooner or later. And that thought made him incredibly jittery. In the back of his mind, he knew that Hermione would completely accept him, but he just wasn’t ready to… come out, you know, with it all yet.

Over the next several days, Harry struggled between keeping up his cocky facade and simply being himself around Malfoy. Both options seemed risky, but he had chosen for the most part to play out the first, because that seemed to garner the most amusing reaction from Malfoy.

The rumour that was circulating around Hogwarts was becoming incredibly amusing, especially since Malfoy seemed to have no idea what it was about. Everywhere he went, he could hear people whispering about Malfoy. If he didn’t already know the rumour had nothing to do with him, he would be afraid that people had found out about their rendezvous in the Common Room.

When Narcissa Malfoy’s article appeared in the paper on Friday morning, Harry read it through several times, including the letter he had written to the reporter that was featured at the end. He couldn’t help but judge what he had written, thinking it sounded way too sappy; he was afraid that people would realise that he had a more personal reason for forgiving the Malfoys. Much to his surprise, however, not a single person had mentioned it to him. Not even Ron and Hermione, whom he had completely neglected to mention Narcissa’s part in his survival to. As they each read through the article at breakfast that morning, Hermione’s only reply was to pat him affectionately on the back, as if to say she understood why he hadn’t told them. Ron had simply given him a small smile. And that was the last of it.

Harry had no idea whether to be upset or surprised when, throughout that day he noticed Malfoy being bombarded by giggling girls. Apparently, the article had done wonders to his popularity - or rather, desirability - especially coupled with the rumour that had been circulating before.

While he wasn’t willing to admit it to himself, Harry was glad when he had been paired up with Malfoy in Charms that morning. The pair simply practiced their charms on each other, without any drama. Wanting to get a rise out of Malfoy - he had always had more fun throwing barbs at Malfoy than being nice to him - Harry made as many inappropriate comments as he could. It had been difficult not to cringe at his own words, but he had pushed on, enjoying the look of shock or disgust that crossed Malfoy’s face every time he opened his mouth.

“I love how you handle your wand, there, Malfoy,”

“Don’t worry, you won’t need to use an engorgement charm on me later,”

“Do you talk that dirty in bed?”

Harry pushed through the lesson, taking great pleasure out of watching Malfoy stutter every time he said something sexual. It was making it quite difficult for him to work, in all honestly. His dirty words were causing him to picture Malfoy in all sorts of situations, and now that he _knew_ just how wonderful the man looked naked, it was practically impossible to get rid of his arousal.

By the time the lesson finished, Malfoy looked ready to either die from embarrassment or punch him in the face, and that gave him a wild sort of satisfaction that he couldn’t begin to explain. Just as Malfoy was leaving in a huff, Harry remembered that they had the next class together and ran after him. When he told Malfoy as much, he didn’t seem at all pleased, but Harry ignore that in favour of getting to spend another lesson making him uncomfortable. As they walked together, Harry felt an almost magnetic pull to Malfoy, and couldn’t help but stand as close as was appropriate. Malfoy seemed to be giving off a great deal of heat, twitching every time he heard someone whisper his name as they passed and Harry wondered when Malfoy’s virtually calm facade would shatter.

The answer came quickly when, half way to Transfiguration, Malfoy stopped him in the corridor and began to practically yell at him. Harry felt fear shock him when Malfoy angrily asked why no one was more surprised that he was a ponce. Terrified that someone had heard him, he tried to keep up his confidence as he looked out of the corner of his eyes to see if anyone had noticed. When he saw that no one had, he sighed inwardly and replied.

The Wizarding World certainly didn’t know that he was a ponce, and he wasn’t quite sure how they would react. But anyway, he couldn’t even tell Hermione and Ron yet - let alone the entire Wizarding World (because as soon as someone he wasn’t close to found out, everyone would know).

Harry took great enjoyment in seeing the look on Malfoy’s face when he told him the real reason everyone was whispering about him. Just to confuse Malfoy more, he left as soon as he had spoken, practically skipping to Transfiguration.

Unfortunately, because he had walked off without Malfoy, he ended up being seated between Ron and Hermione. Usually he wouldn’t mind, but it was almost addictive annoying Malfoy, and he wouldn’t be able to do it from opposite sides of the classroom.

Hermione seemed as though she was being cautious around him, not looking him in the eye and only talking to him if absolutely necessary. Luckily Ron was acting the same as always (having finally gotten over his hang over from Wednesday night) and did barely any work in favour for talking with Harry about meaningless subjects.

“The Cannons are gonna win this round, mate, I can feel it,” Ron would say with a goofy grin on his face.

Knowing it would please Ron, he countered with, “But what about the Wasps? I’ve heard they’ve been training for hours every day for this game,”

Ron’s reply was to shake his head disappointedly, before spouting off on all of the reasons why he knew the Chudley Cannons were going to win their next game. He spoke for so long that it allowed Harry to sit back and listen, without really having to think about a thing.

Not doing any work, however, caused the lesson to feel as though it was dragging on forever. When it finally finished, Harry, Ron and Neville made their way down to Hagrid’s Hut for Care of Magical Creatures. For once, they had a virtually pain-free lesson, in which Hagrid spoke about how to care for Unicorns. Knowing they were coming close to exams, and were probably swamped with home work and study, Hagrid let them off homework for the weekend. They were also permitted to finish the lesson fifteen minutes early, and every one in the class was extremely grateful.

As Harry and Ron walked through the entrance hall, Harry suddenly had an idea. Telling Ron he’d meet him at lunch, and earning a very strange look from his friend, Harry ran as quickly as he could in the direction of the dungeons. Having known that Hermione and Malfoy would be just about to finish Potions, he hurried down the dark corridors until he reached the one he knew that held the Eighth Year Potions students. Feeling incredibly mischievous, and admitting he had missed that a bit, he hid in the shadows and waited for the students to exit.

At the ring of the bell, Eighth Years began to trickle out. Near the back of the pack, Harry spotted a mess of white-blonde hair and felt his stomach tighten. He was incredibly pleased when he saw Malfoy say goodbye to Parkinson and begin walking on his own. Harry was quick to catch up to him, manoeuvring himself so that he “accidentally” rammed face-first into the Slytherin.

Building his courage, he pasted the cockiest smile he could onto his face and stared at Malfoy arrogantly, loving the way Malfoy seemed to look so flustered. He couldn’t help but step closer to the other man, his heart beat speeding up as he looked up into Malfoy’s grey eyes. In the back of his mind, he wondered what on Earth he was doing there - he had virtually no reason to speak to Malfoy now - but somehow he had completely misplaced his logic.

They were so close. All Harry wanted to do was reach out and touch him, kiss him again. It had only been less than forty-eight hours since their lips had touched, but it felt like much too long for Harry.

Malfoy looked highly uncomfortable, like he was battling himself, and it made Harry angry. “Stop playing hard to get, Malfoy,” he growled out, feeling frustration overcome him. “I know you want me too,” he said, trying to ignore the feeling that he was trying to convince himself of that fact.

And then, he let go of his inhibitions and kissed Malfoy full on the lips, wrapping his hands around Malfoy’s hips and pulling them as close as humanly possible. Something about the way their bodies fit together felt so incredibly _right_ and Harry couldn’t help but feel like an addict. He moaned into Malfoy’s mouth, reaching up into his hair and gripping at the blonde strands. At that, Malfoy let out a loud groan and Harry’s arousal grew exponentially, stepping closer in order to gain some friction on his rock-hard erection.

Something in Malfoy seemed to snap, however, when he abruptly pulled away, muttered some excuse and ran down the hallway as fast as his legs could carry him. Harry was completely torn between mind-numbing arousal, confusion and frustration.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair in holding back all of the expletives he wanted to yell. Instead of taking his frustrations out on the empty corridor, he tried to calm himself and began to walk to the Great Hall. It took all of his concentration to will away his erection, but focusing on things such as over-weight, old ladies helped to ease his annoyance.

As he sat down at the Gryffindor table, Hermione gave him a suspicious look and Ron seemed curious as to where he had been. Harry simply muttered something about taking care of business, and they left it alone.

Throughout lunch, Harry tried his damnedest not to look over at the Slytherin table, but his efforts eventually failed. Only five minutes after he had sat down, he found himself unable to stop himself from looking over at Malfoy, and what he saw made red hot fire burn in his stomach. Malfoy was currently wrapped up in the arms of a Slytherin girl, whose name he did not know. She seemed to be whispering things into his ear, to which Malfoy looked flustered.

Not knowing what to make of that, but not liking it one bit, Harry turned back to his lunch and resolved not to think about Malfoy at all for the rest of the day.

After lunch, Harry and Ron had a free period. As an Eighth Year, they had been given the choice to do either five or six N.E.W.T.s and Harry and Ron had happily chosen to only complete five. It meant that they had five spare periods throughout the week, in which they were probably supposed to study but usually ended up playing Wizard’s Chest or Gobstones.

As they sat in the practically empty Common Room, Ron chatted to him some more about Quidditch, before mentioning some of the things Mr. Weasley had said in his most recent letter. Apparently, there was talk of a new department being opened in the Ministry to do with integrating Muggle objects into Wizarding society, and of course Mr. Weasley was incredibly excited (and practically itching for one of the jobs when it opened up).

Harry most definitely did not think about Malfoy once, not the whole time he was with Ron. 

 

The Hogwarts rumour mill was fast. All it took was for one untrustworthy person to be told a secret, or for one gossiping person to overhear something, and within hours every single person in the school would know. 

That day, most of the gossip seemed to revolve completely around Malfoy. Just when he thought he had successfully rid Malfoy from his mind, he would hear someone whispering about him. He tried not to listen to their gossip; as long as it wasn’t about _him_ with Malfoy, he didn’t care in the slightest what they were saying.

Harry and Ron were sitting by the fire when, much to Harry’s annoyance, a group of gossipers sat on the couch adjacent to them, speaking obnoxiously loudly. He didn’t _want_ to listen, but they were speaking so loudly that it was difficult not to. Doing his best to ignore them, he turned his body so that he was facing away from them, trying to listen more intently to what Ron was saying.

They were speaking even louder, as if the conversation was getting heated. “Can you believe Malfoy’s dating that _slag_?” he heard one person say disgustedly.

Another seemed to scoff, “I _know_. Out of all of the women he could have chosen, and he chooses _her_?”

The first one groaned loudly, and Harry could almost picture them rolling their eyes. “You know he’s only with her because she’ll have sex with him. That girl has no boundaries, I’ve heard.”

Doing his best to look nonchalant, Harry stared off into space, completely tuning out Ron’s voice. _So Malfoy has a girlfriend, then,_ Harry thought as rationally as possible. He was struggling to keep the anger from rising out of him. The thought of Malfoy with someone else felt very, very wrong and he had absolutely no idea why. But after the kiss they had shared only a few hours ago, Harry guessed it had something to do with Malfoy being particularly talented, and not wanting to share.

 

That weekend had been difficult for Harry. Apparently, someone had informed the Eighth Years that their final N.E.W.T. exams were less than two months away, and it had sent everyone into a frenzy. Almost every single Eighth Year student had spent the entire weekend holed up in the Common Room.

As much as Harry wanted to do well in his N.E.W.T.s, he just wasn’t as dedicated as the other students. On Saturday, as the sun began to set, Harry realised that their entire grade had completely skipped lunch, and he didn’t know about everyone else, but he was famished. Seeing that Ron wasn’t having any fun studying either, he tapped him on the shoulder and asked him if he wanted to take a quick trip to the Kitchens.

Ron’s face lit up like a Christmas tree as he eagerly slammed his textbook closed and hopped up, the pair sneaking out of the Common Room so as not to distract the other studiers.

On the way down to the Kitchens the pair were silent. Harry could tell that Ron was bursting to say something, his face scrunched up awkwardly as if he was trying to figure out the most appropriate way to say it. A part of him was extremely worried that Ron and somehow figured out about him and Malfoy, but logically he knew that Ron just wasn’t that perceptive. 

By the time they had almost reached the painting of the fruit, neither had said a word, and Harry sighed, wanting to get the conversation over with.

“What’s up, Ron?” he asked, stopping on the spot as he rolled his eyes, turning to face the redhead.

Ron seemed to stutter, turning to face Harry with his ears beet red. “I- Well, mate. I was just wondering if you’ve thought of maybe, I dunno, getting back with Ginny?”

If he had been expecting Ron to say anything, it had definitely not been that. All Harry could do was stutter awkwardly, trying to think of an acceptable answer. “Ron, I mean- I mean I _care_ about Ginny, but I don’t know it still-“

“Come on, mate. I know she said she was cool with letting you figure stuff out, but she’s been upset lately, and I know it’s because she misses you. It’s been almost a year since the war. You can’t say it’s too soon or whatever.” Ron finished, the expression on his face a strange mix between confusion, frustration and sorrow.

Harry was, to say the least, completely stuck. How was he supposed to tell Ron that he never wanted to be with Ginny again? That he couldn’t stand the thought of being with a woman at all? Short answer, he couldn’t. Not then, not yet. He wasn’t ready.

The only thing he could do was give a non-answer, and so he did. “I’ll think about it, Ron,” he said, giving him a small smile. As soon as the words were out of his mouth, however, he completely regretted them.

Ron’s mood did a total 180 degree flip; where seconds ago he had looked ready to cry (and Ron _never_ looked ready to cry), he now had a big, beaming smile on his face. He began to practically skip down the corridor in the direction of the Kitchens. Harry practically groaned, knowing that some how he had said the wrong thing and given Ron the hope that his best friend and sister would get back together. _Wow, never thought Ron would be hoping for that_ , he thought, trying to make light of the situation. _It doesn’t matter, it’s not like I have to go an date Ginny now. I’ll have to just let Ron down easy some time. Soon._

When the pair entered the Kitchens, there was total uproar from the House Elves present, who seemed to be cleaning the equipment after making dinner. Every elf present seemed completely in awe of the “heroes”.

“Leekie sees the Great Harry Potter and the Noble Ron Weasley,” one house elf squeaked.

“Harry Potter would like some Treacle Tart, yes?” another rasped out.

Their little bodies were surrounding them as they struggled to make their way into the Kitchens. Harry did his best to yell out above all of their chorusing voices of “Would Harry Potter like-“ and “Harry Potter should have-“

“Ron and I were wondering if you would all be able to make us some baskets of food for the rest of the Eighth Years, since they didn’t get a chance to go down to dinner-”

There was a resounding ‘yes’ from the elves, and they immediately scampered off and began to make the food.

Half an hour later, the two entered the Common Room laden with baskets of food, which the starving Eighth Years ate up happily. Harry couldn’t stop himself from offering Malfoy some food, knowing that pride would stop the Slytherin from asking for any. He was more than a little surprised when Malfoy actually _thanked_ him, and happily ignored the butterflies in his stomach.

 

The next day, Harry, Ron and Hermione headed down to the Great Hall for a quick breakfast, knowing that they had a whole day of studying ahead of them. A day of studying certainly wasn’t appetising to Harry or Ron, but Hermione seemed excited. Her face was practically glowing throughout the entire walk from the Seventh Floor to the Entrance Hall. In all honestly, seeing her so bright and awake so early in the morning was grating on his nerves. Alas, he ignored the fire in his stomach and remained silent.

The trio sat down at the Gryffindor, eating their breakfast. Both Harry and Ron ate in total silence, feeling too tired and not liking the prospect of studying. Hermione, on the other hand, would not stop talking. Currently, she was talking about something interesting she had learnt in Arithmacy the other day, and how it related to a Muggle concept she had learnt before arriving at Hogwarts. Harry had, predictably, completely tuned out and Ron didn’t seem to be faring well either. _I love Hermione, but I’m glad she’s with Ron and not me. He has to actually look interested,_ Harry thought selfishly, trying to hold back an almost girlish giggle.

As he went to take a bite of a piece of toast, he felt someone sit down next to him. When he turned to see who it was, he immediately felt sick. Of course, it had to be Ginny who had decided to grace him with their presence. Feeling irritation bubbling, he tried to ignore her. But as the minutes ticked by, it became more and more difficult. He could feel her beside him with every movement she made; it was almost as if she was shuffling closer to him.

While he knew it was selfish, the last thing he wanted to do was have a heart-to-heart with Ginny. It had been months since they had spoken, and with everything Harry had been dealing with, girls had been the last thing on his mind, even in a friendly sense. And according to his conversation with Ron the night before, Ginny still had some sort of feelings for him. He wasn’t at all sure how he was supposed to take that. He cared about her, so deeply it was difficult to put into words, but just not in a romantic sense. The thought of kissing her felt deeply wrong, like what he imagined it would feel like to kiss one’s sister. 

The minutes ticked by, and he continued to ignore Ginny, putting out of his mind the mingling feeling that he was being horrible. When he thought it was a suitable time to leave, he began to shuffle in his seat. Much to his displeasure, however, he felt a tap to his shoulder. Resisting the urge to groan, he turned to Ginny, plastering as kind of a smile as he could on his face.

Any annoyance he had been harbouring completely fade away, however, when he took a look at her face. Something about her seemed different than the last time they had spoken, several months ago. Her faced looked sullen, dark bags under her eyes.

Harry immediately felt guilty. The fake smile he had been holding slipped away, and all he wanted to do was pull her into a bone crushing hug. _She shouldn’t have to look so sad_ , he thought.

“Maybe we should go for a walk, Ginny,” he said, standing out of his chair and holding out a hand for Ginny to grab. At the gesture, Ginny’s eyes seemed to light up, and it helped a touch to ease the guilt he was feeling.

Ginny followed after Harry, through the doors of the Great Hall, to the Entrance Hall and out into the Entrance Court Yard. Spotting a free bench, the two walked over and sat down, close to each other.

“Gin-“ Harry grasped out, feeling suddenly very emotional, and not exactly knowing why.

She immediately interrupted him, placing a hand on his. “Could you maybe let me talk for a minute, Harry?” she asked kindly, giving him a warm smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Feeling it was the least he could do, after not speaking to her for so long, he stayed silent, waiting for her to say something.

“It’s been a long time since we last did this,” she laughed out humourlessly. 

Harry felt the fake laugh like a blow to the face. 

“Look, I want to just go ahead and say it so I will. You’ve been a total prick, Harry,” she let out, her tone unsettlingly quiet. “I told you I would give you some space, and I did. It’s been, what, six months since we broke up? And I haven’t pestered you about anything; I didn’t even expect you to try and be friends with me. But I will admit, I had hoped you would step up to the plate and get over whatever _bloody_ issues you’ve got going on in your mind. I’ve never been much of a sap, but I loved you and I know you loved me, too. So why don’t you want to get back to that? Has the war fucked you over so much that you _can’t_? Because if it has, I would like to know so I can move on. I hate the idea of waiting for people, but I have waited for you, and now’s your chance to give me an answer.”

By the end of her speech, Ginny’s face was almost bright red in anger, and Harry felt incredibly bad. While he had been worrying about men and his schoolwork and Malfoy, he had completely neglected to think about Ginny’s feelings in the whole thing. For some reason, he had expected to break up with her and have that be it, but now he knew how naive he had been.

She had been in love with him, maybe still was. And if she was in pain, he was the only one to blame.

“I, Gin-“ he tried again, feeling flustered and not knowing what to say. What was he supposed to do? Tell her the truth? Fear quivered inside of him at the thought, and he knew that that wasn’t yet an option.

At his lack of an answer, Ginny’s anger seemed to only grow. Her brown eyes seemed to be shades darker than before, and it was almost as if her bright red hair was fanned around her head.

Just as Harry was expecting a blow to the face, he was shocked when he felt Ginny’s body pressed against his, her lips assaulting his mouth. In that split second, he knew he had to make a decision.

And so he did his best to sink into the kiss, pressing back as eagerly as he could manage. He couldn’t help himself from comparing the feel of her lips to Malfoy’s. Ginny’s lips were too soft, too full, and it felt wrong to be kissing her. But he pushed on, trying to form his brotherly love into some semblance of romantic love, and putting it into the kiss. He owed Ginny that much.

When they broke apart, Ginny’s eyes were rimmed in tears, and she enveloped him in a suffocating hug that portrayed how happy she was to be with him again. Feeling her happiness made him feel as though he was doing the right thing, even though his heart wished for stronger arms to be holding him. Completing pushing that thought from his mind, he pulled away slowly and grabbed her by the hand, announcing that they should go back to breakfast.

 

The pair spent the rest of the day studying in the near-silent library. If Harry hadn’t felt so conflicted about getting back with Ginny, he would have burst out laughing when he had seen the look of utmost joy in Ron’s face when they had walked up to the Gryffindor table, hand in hand. Hermione, in complete contrast, had merely raised an eyebrow and put a small smile on her face, congratulating the two. That one look said it all: Hermione knew something was up.

By the time dinner rolled around, and the sun began to set, Ginny looked as though she wanted to beat her head against the text book, and Harry wasn’t feel much different. All of a sudden, Ginny turned to him with a wild smirk, leaning over and whispering in his ear, “I have an idea.”

Harry was so completely terrified by that sentence, that when Ginny stood up and clasped his hand, pulling him along, he was so startled that he had no ability to fight her. She practically ran from the Third Floor to the Seventh, Harry trailing behind her confusedly. He had a feeling that he wouldn’t like the outcome of her “idea”.

As they neared the entrance to the Eighth Year Common Room, Ginny paused, looking to Harry as if asking for him to open the doors for her. Sighing, he did his best to look enthusiastic as he walked past the door three times, repeating the phrase ‘The Golden Snidget’ in his head until the doors appeared. 

When the doors opened, she grabbed Harry’s hand in hers and began pulling him again. As they entered the Common Room, one face stood out from all of the others. Draco Malfoy sat cuddled with that Sixth Year he was supposedly dating, looking much too close for comfort. Knowing what it must have looked like, with the two running through the Common Room in the direction of the dormitories, he looked Malfoy right in the eye and put a grin on his face to match Ginny’s.

The change in Malfoy’s eyes was only slight, but Harry saw it, and it only made him more determined to make Malfoy jealous. Harry was completely furious when he saw Malfoy’s _girlfriend_ grabbing onto Malfoy’s shirt and pulling him close, as if for a kiss; he turned away, not wanting to watch such a disgusting public display of affection.

Ginny began to pull him down the hall in the direction of his dormitory; she still seemed to know the way after all of those months since she had last been there. When they arrived, she yanked open the door and pushed Harry into the room, immediately latching her lips onto his. Harry spluttered, somehow not expecting that turn of events. _Surely, she had just been excited to play Gobstones or something!_ Harry thought in utter terror as he tried to kiss Ginny back.

When they broke apart for air, Harry did his best to push Ginny away softly. “Gin-“ he said, trying to muster up the courage to tell her the truth. The look on her face was a mixture of hunger and confusion and she pulled away completely, crossing her arms over her chest. Anger was beginning to build in her eyes, and it made Harry extremely afraid.

He had wanted to tell her the truth. He really had. But some how what he had thought and what he had said were two completely different things. “I’m just not- I’m not ready for that yet,” he said lamely, feeling immensely guilty.

Her confusion only seemed to grow and it looked as though she would either burst out laughing or slap him in the face, and the uncertainty only made Harry more nervous. “Why the bloody hell did you come up here with me, then?”

Harry could only stutter out something about Gobstones, his face going bright red. At that point, Ginny’s face seemed to soften and she leaned closer to Harry, placing her mouth near his ear. “Are you having… problems, Harry?” she asked, her tone kind but containing a hint of condescension.

Confused, Harry just started blankly into space for a second, before replying, “What do you mean, pro-“ Recognition was clear on his face, mixed in with a copious amount of embarrassed shock. He began to stumble over his words, trying to get out that _no_ he wasn’t having “problems”, _Well, I guess I would have a “problem” when trying to get hot and heavy with Ginny_ , he thought, holding back a shudder at the idea of him and Ginny… Like that. Of course, they had slept together in Sixth Year, and Harry hadn’t _hated_ it, per se. He just hadn’t particularly enjoyed it.

Ginny raised an eyebrow at Harry’s quickly changing expressions, before huffing out, “Well, I’m not a bloody prude, Harry. I enjoy sex just as much as the next person, just as much as I know you once did. If you’ve got any _problems_ , you should tell me.”

Having expected a more dramatic action that, Harry breathed a sigh of relief and smiled, telling Ginny he just didn’t want to rush anything. She didn’t seem like she bought it completely, but she settled for giving him a curious look and asking if they could just relax together for a while. Knowing he was getting off lightly, Harry eagerly accepted.

As he lay there with Ginny, he reflected over their relationship in the past, and the one they had formed now, and more than ever Harry knew he had to do something. He had to tell her the truth. But Saviour of the Wizarding World or not, he was completely terrified.

 

Harry told himself on Monday morning that he would do his best to annoy Malfoy at every possible opportunity, for no other reason than it was incredibly entertaining. Which meant that he often dragged Ron along with him, much to his utter annoyance and absolute confusion.

It was only a few hours into his masterful plan to make Malfoy’s head explode that it backfired on him more than he could have anticipated. Malfoy, the _bastard_ , had charmed him to look like a bloody _woman_. This wouldn’t be so disturbing if it weren’t for the fact that he liked _men_. He in no way wanted to see a woman in the mirror every day.

Luckily, the charm only lasted until the next morning. When he shot out of bed, he raced over to the bathroom mirror and felt a huge sigh of relief overcome him. He would admit he kind of… deserved to be charmed after how awfully he had treated Malfoy over the past week and a half.

He had never spoken to Malfoy so much in his entire life as he had in those days since the Eighth Year party. While he had always kept a watchful eye on him, even before he knew he liked men, he had never realised just how often Malfoy was just… there. They were in most of the same classes, shared the same common room… Once Harry realised just how much time they could be spending together, he made it his mission to spend as much time with Malfoy without drawing attention to them.

That day, they only had one class together: Defence. Malfoy had not found a partner, and so he had been forced to work with the Professor - Roger Davies, whom Harry did not like in the slightest. Harry would have offered to be Malfoy’s partner immediately, but they were meant to be working in pairs and he had an obligation to choose Ron.

It became clear to Harry quite quickly that Davies admired Malfoy in some way. When he looked at Malfoy, there was a spark of desire in his eyes and it set Harry’s stomach on fire. _Surely that bastard wouldn’t try anything with a student_ , he thought, disregarding the fact that Davies was only a few years older than them.

Only a few minutes had passed when Harry had been completely unable to watch Davies flirt with Malfoy any longer, and he had stepped in. What had followed had been incredibly tense, and definitely arousing. Practicing defence techniques with Draco wrapped in his arms had been… fun, to say the least. Alas, the lesson had ended much quicker than Harry had desired.

Grasping at straws, he had asked Malfoy if they would be able to study together. Completely expecting him to decline, Harry had been pleasantly surprised when Malfoy had accepted his offer.

Feeling horrible about the way he had been treating Malfoy, he decided to do something nice for Malfoy. Try a new approach. So he had given Malfoy back his bag as a peace offering.

Seeing the blush on Malfoy’s face, put there by kindness rather than an inappropriate comment, made Harry want to be nice to Malfoy all the time. It was difficult, however, to be nice. He tried to start a conversation with Malfoy, but things had quickly turned heated, as they always did with the pair.

It had been as Malfoy was about to go to bed, after they had not spoken a word to each other for several hours, that Harry decided to ‘man up’ and apologise. Harry would admit it had taken a lot of courage for him to do so, but as soon as the words had left his mouth he had breathed a sigh of relief.

He had slept soundly that night, mind swirling with the images of Malfoy’s flushed face.

 

Harry had been hoping that, after their study session, he could get a chance to maybe… get to know Malfoy better. The idea sounded ridiculous, even in his own mind, but he could admit that Malfoy sparked a great deal of curiosity in him. And, of course, he was a great kisser. Anything that meant he could kiss Malfoy again in the future sounded perfect in his mind.

He had been shocked and more than a little disappointed, however, when he had seen Malfoy after breakfast that Wednesday morning. The two had almost the whole day of classes together. First, double Defence, then Charms, and then Transfiguration. Harry wanted to surprise Malfoy by continuing his kindness from the night previous, and sat next to him at the back of the classroom in first period.

“Hey, Malfoy,” he said, feeling childish as a kind smile spread across his face.

He had got no reply. Not even the shrug he had been suspecting. Malfoy completely ignored him, as if he wasn’t there, keeping his blonde head hidden in the book he was reading.

The lack of reply certainly unsettled him. Usually Malfoy would role his eyes, or give a shrug, or blush, _something_. But there was nothing. Any subsequent attempts Harry made to talk to him were shot down with utter silence, and Ron was giving him increasingly confused looks.

And the day progressed in a similar fashion. Harry would sit next to him, Ron would ask _‘why the bloody hell are you sitting next to Malfoy again, Harry?’_ , Harry would shrug awkwardly and attempt to start a conversation only for his complete existence to be ignored.

What was stranger, Malfoy did not appear to be listening at all. In each class, he would sit at the back of the room with his head buried in a different book - all textbooks - each time. Not one note was taken, not one question asked or answered. Every class was comprised completely of theory, as well, so they had not had a chance to get out of their seats (Harry had been hoping that Malfoy would be forced to give eye contact had they been asked to perform magic).

By the time the last class they had together finished, Harry was incredibly frustrated. Groaning loudly when the bell rang to signal the next class, Harry slammed his textbook closed, shoving it roughy into his bag and storming out the door. Ron, utterly confused, ran after him.

“Harry-“ he called to Harry, who was stomping rather immaturely several meters in from of him. “Mate,” he tried again, picking up his steps slightly in order to catch up.

Eventually, with his longer legs being a great advantage, he reached Harry, grabbing him by the shoulder to get him to stop. Muttering, Harry turned around to face his best friend.

“What the bloody fuck is your problem?”

All Harry could do was clench his teeth, shaking his head as if to say ‘nothing’. Unsurprisingly, Ron didn’t even slightly buy it.

Rolling his eyes, Ron crossed his arms over his chest and gave Harry a long look that somehow said, ‘I’m not buying this shit’.

“Really Ron,” Harry said, “Nothing’s wrong, I just don’t really like Transfiguration.”

“That doesn’t explain why you’re acting so strange, mate. You’ve been really weird lately, to be honest. What’s going on? I thought maybe getting back with Ginny would be good for you.”

Resisting the urge to scoff, Harry just gave Ron a quiet laugh, patting him on the shoulder. “I haven’t been feeling well, that’s all. Nothing to worry about.”

“Is that why you’ve been sitting next to Malfoy so much lately? Please tell me you’re just ill in the head. You’re not trying to… y’know, be _friends_ with him or anything?” 

Completely abruptly, Harry burst out laughing, not being able to handle the irony of the conversation any longer. The look on Ron’s face said he thought Harry was absolutely mad, but Harry couldn’t stop laughing. _Not friends, fuck buddies, Ron,_ he thought, barks of laughter coming out. He gasped for breath wildly, only able to get out the word, “Friends,” as if the mere possibility was so absurd.

That one word seemed to ease Ron’s nerves, and he began to laugh as well, seeming to accept Harry’s reaction as a perfectly normal answer. “I guess-“ he said, in between bouts of laughter, “You’re right,”

After several minutes, the laughter began to die down and Ron gave Harry a pat on the shoulder. “Sorry for doubting you, mate. I don’t know what I was thinking,”

As the pair walked down the hall quickly, realising they were late for Herbology, Ron laughed out ‘friends’ again with a shake of his head. Internally, Harry was incredibly relieved that he had gotten Ron off of his trail.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> My url is now cos-i-ma on tumblr, if you want to drop in and say hello! I occasionally post little sneak peaks / snippets of future chapters on there, as well.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I'm not sure whether I want to continue this fic or not... It's been so long since I've written anything; for all I know it's absolutely terrible! If you review I will love you forever!


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